


Illuminations

by Etheostoma



Category: Charlie Bone Universe - Jenny Nimmo
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Like Forest Level Pining, Pining, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Slice of Life, Young Paton, filling in the blanks, mostly - Freeform, we have it all folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etheostoma/pseuds/Etheostoma
Summary: Snapshots of Paton and Julia's relationship throughout the course of the series.
Relationships: Julia Ingledew/Paton Yewbeam
Comments: 25
Kudos: 10





	1. Into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was a labor of love created over the course of many years and initially posted on ff.net once upon a time. I'm working my way through the older version and updating, cutting out, and adding chapters to make a full, comprehensive version. Updates will be consistent as old chapters get re-touched.

A fierce fall wind blows across the deserted street, sending leaves and debris whipping along the sidewalks. As the flurry of red, orange, and gold cavorts across garbage bins and traffic lights, one can occasionally glimpse a tall, black-clad figure as he passes quickly beneath the street lamps lining the sidewalk. Shaggy black hair dances around a pale face, stirred by the blustery weather.

As the man passes by one of the numerous street lights that line the road, his dark eyes flicker up at each glowing lamp overhead as he passes, and then quickly darted away, once again turning their attention and focus downward—always down, always away, never in focus and so never noticed.

Still the mysterious man strides along, his destination unknown—even to himself. He walks on in silence, a cascade of thoughts spiraling through his mind, all but lost to the present as he immerses himself in his internal conflict.

His gloomy mood is eventually disrupted by a tinkling overhead, his tremulous peace unable to hold forever, the shattering bulb capturing his attention and causing him to swear quietly under his breath as a shower of glass rains down to meet the cement.

It transpires that the strange man is, in fact, Paton Yewbeam, his aptitude as a power booster setting him apart from the standard ranks of man. His ability forces him to live differently, drives him to shelter in the dark and take solace in the night, wandering the city like some sort of lost soul. He views his ability as little more than a curse, rues whatever twisted karma saw fit to gift him with _this_ particular endowment. It is because of this _talent_ that he might only emerge when all others are at rest, lurking in shadows and twilight so that he might live as he will without ever drawing attention to himself.

In a manner of speaking, Paton is lost, lost beyond the simple sense of misdirection he feels when he is at his most morose. He traverses the roads of his life with a great void growing within, a black hole that threatens to consume him each and every day, haunted by the sense of something missing—as if there is some purpose to his life that he has not yet discovered, lurking just beyond reach and utterly unattainable.

He has been harboring these thoughts for quite some time, keeping them buried beneath years of passivity, curled and tucked away behind the mask he has constructed to hide the true Paton Yewbeam from the world. However, recent events involving his nephew, Charlie, have stirred thoughts long buried, have proven to be the catalyst that unleash every single thought of doubt and self-purpose that he had long thought locked away. Every feeling about right and wrong, good and evil, about black, white, and grey is recalled to the surface, reawakened and reexamined and paving the way to a series of startling new conclusions.

Paton thinks as he walks, his feet leading him farther from home as he ponders the pitted path of morality, trailing through alleys and across dimly-lit streets with a sure and steady stride. Eventually he can walk no farther, and comes to a stop as a great dark shape rises out of the gloom to loom before him. Coming out of his contemplations with a start, Paton finds himself in the shadow of the now-dark cathedral, the glitter of the darkened stained glass glaring back at him in the light of what few street lamps have survived his presence. 

As he stares at the darkened cathedral, cloaked in its shadow and an ant beneath its towering might, Paton finds suddenly that his mind is made up, his path decided.

He will hide in the shadows no longer; no more will he lurk behind the scenes, watching and observing, mute and motionless. No more will he watch those he cares about get hurt while he lingers silently on the sidelines.

His attention is drawn suddenly by a warm light coming from the window of a nearby shop, its welcoming glow drawing him in like a fly to honey. With a jolt, he realizes he recognizes it, that he had been in this very spot just a few days earlier in the week, with young Charlie.

It is a bookshop, of all things, a local little shop filled with all sorts of delightful, unexplored shelves. He leans toward it, tempted, lured by the promise of literature and lore and the company of the beautiful woman he had met upon his first visit.

The radiance of the light emanating from the bookshop beckons to him, its welcoming radiance a siren’s call, but even yet Paton shrinks back. What is he thinking? He _belongs_ in the darkness, he belongs in the night. He has become more comfortable now in the evening than in the day; how can he think that he would belong elsewhere? How can he have the _gall_ to pretend otherwise?

Slowly, he shakes his head, clearing away his doubts as one shakes away the buzzing of an irritating fly.

No. He is tired of being afraid, of holding back.

Straightening, he turns back to face the bookshop, hesitation gripping him and fear pounding loudly in his heart. Nevertheless, his chin is held high, his eyes bright.

Leaving the darkness behind, Paton steps into the light


	2. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set rather nebulously in the range of books 3-5.

There was something peaceful about the rain.

It pounded on the roof with a steady and determined fervor, drumming out a tempered, serene rhythm as it struck shingle and stone alike, sliding down to puddle and pool against the ground. The gray of the sky, hidden though it was by the dark shroud of night, made the warm lighting of the backroom of Ingledew’s bookshop seem to glow all the more; there were candles scattered here and there, their bright flames flickering merrily in defiance to the gloom outside.

Indeed, the candles were everywhere: they were on top of tables, settled around the backs of more sturdy armchairs, and even a daring few perched precariously in and amongst the numerous bookshelves that lined the walls. They shared space with the more conventional innards of the shelves, those ancient tomes, rare documents, literary classics, and stray mystery novels organized so carefully by their masters. Between the candles and the books the room was filled with warmth and light, both real and imagined, the bookshop all filled to the brim with a slowly simmering sense of sanctuary and contentment.

Nestled up against the one portion of wall that wasn't dominated by books was a couch, large enough for two, that was snugly squeezed between the resting places of the works of Shakespeare and various histories of China. It was an exceptionally plain sofa—merely a very basic brown, unadorned, with no pattern and a rather threadbare weave of fabric—which nevertheless nicely complimented the rich mahogany of the surrounding wood. None of this mattered to the owner of the couch, as she had bought it for its cozy cushions, not its looks, and indeed indulged far too often in the plushness of the armrest and the thick back cushions when she fell asleep reading a particularly favorite novel.

Currently, Julia was curled comfortably on one end of the couch with a paperback in her lap, feet tucked up under her and head was resting against one of the sofa’s plump back cushions. She stared down at her novel in silent concentration, determinedly avoiding the eyes of the man beside her.

Next to her sat Paton Yewbeam, of course, also engrossed in a book. He was seated a bit more rigidly, both feet firmly on the floor of the room, studiously focusing on his research and pretending he was not inherently aware of each breath Julia drew, of the rise and fall of her chest and the flutter of her fingers on the page.

The rain continued its invariable assault on the roof, but neither Paton nor Julia paid it any mind. Only the candles truly seemed alive, flames dancing on their wicks, illuminating the room as they cavorted amongst the tallow. The only sound to be heard was the quiet sound of Paton and Julia’s soft breaths, the near-silent turning of pages, and, of course, the inexhaustible rain as it pitter-patted against the sloped shop roof.

Despite the low-hanging grey gloom, the interior of the bookshop was nearly cheerful, filled as it was by candle and silent, careful camaraderie.

Paton reached the end of a particularly long paragraph and glanced up, dark eyes shifting from the words on the page to the rather stunning woman sitting next to him. Her rich, chestnut hair was tucked behind her ear as she focused on her mystery—one of the only fictional genres in which she occasionally indulged.

Julia remained intent on her reading, eyes gliding across line after line, devouring pages with a voracious appetite. So focused was she that she failed to take notice of the fact that she was being observed, eyes glued to the page even as Paton’s attention shifted from his own book to take advantage of a rare opportunity to study her unnoticed.

Paton smiled to himself; it wasn't often one caught Julia Ingledew unawares. He was tempted to give into temptation and fully take advantage of the moment, catch her in his arms and render her well and truly distracted, but—she looked so peaceful that he could not quite bring himself to disturb her.

With a slight sigh, he turned back to his history of Europe.

They read in silence for an indeterminate time, the candles greatly diminished by the time Paton next looked up from his book. Then, he could not help but smile, for Julia had fallen asleep beside him, lulled by the soft pattering of the rain, and had shifted so that her head was resting on his shoulder, breath huffing lightly against his cheek. Gently, he brushed her hair out of her face, smoothing it back behind her ear.

Julia sighed, burying her head deeper into Paton's shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him, murmuring something indecipherable as she snuggle closer to his dark sweater.

Paton stiffened, awkward in the unconscious embrace, and then gave into his desires and relaxed, enjoying the serenity and tenderness of the moment. He allowed his head to lean down and rest upon hers, supporting her with an arm around her shoulder as he shifted them so that they were reclining fully on the sofa, Julia tucked up against him and nestled within his arms.

They lay there like that for a long while, one asleep, the other in silent contemplation, his book long forgotten.

Still the rain droned on, its monotonous voice alternatively escalating and then dying off, offering a gentle cadence in the background. Paton's eyelids fluttered and started to droop as he tried to ward off the inevitable, valiantly raising his standard against the oncoming wave of exhaustion. Inevitably, he conceded defeat, slowly succumbing to the largato tempo and tranquility of the rain as it attempted to pull him into sleep’s welcoming embrace. He sank back fully against the arm of the couch, cradling Julia against him and tucking her head beneath his chin.

He sighed, allowing himself this singular moment of reprieve as he gave in to the siren call of slumber, surrounded by books and welcoming light and holding the woman he loved in his arms.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.


	3. Parenting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set when Lyell and Amy are traveling after he has been freed.

"Uncle Paton?" Charlie knocked tentatively on his uncle's door, but there was no answer from the other side. Charlie knocked again. "Uncle P?" His voice held the slightest tremor.

There was silence from behind the door, and then a sigh. "Yes, Charlie?”

"Can…can I come in?" Charlie asked quietly.

The door opened to reveal Paton's worried face. "What's the matter, Charlie?" he asked, waving his nephew into the cluttered room. He clicked the door shut as soon as the boy crossed the threshold, peering down in concern at Charlie all the while. "Are you all right?”

Charlie opened his mouth, but no words would come.

Paton took Charlie by the shoulders and steered him towards the bed, clearing a spot with a careless sweep of his hand across the comforter. Books went in every direction, but Paton paid them no heed. "Sit," he commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Obediently, Charlie sat, burying his head in his hands. "Why does life have to get a lot harder all of a sudden, Uncle Paton?" he asked.

Paton sat at his desk, swiveling his chair so that he was facing his nephew. "Perhaps I could answer that better if I knew what you were talking about," he remarked lightly, eyebrows rising, as he imagined all the directions this conversation could go with an endowed adolescent.

Charlie shrugged helplessly. "I dunno…it just seems like a lot of bad things have been happening lately: Runner was nearly lost in Badlock, Tancred nearly drowned, and Billy's still trapped in another world under the spell of that…enchanter." He shook his head, absently combing his fingers through his unruly hair. "No matter how hard I try, bad things always seem to happen to the people I care about, and they always seem to be my fault.”

Paton's gaze was understanding. "It's not your fault, Charlie." He spoke softly, emphasizing every word. "Never let them make you think it's your fault.”

Charlie bowed his head. "I know it's not my fault," he admitted. "Sometimes, though, I just wish—"he broke off, staring determinedly at the paper-strewn carpet.

"You wish what?" Paton prompted, looking sad.

"I wish I didn't have to deal with things as horrible as one of my best friends nearly dying. I wish I didn't have to deal with the reality of there being people out there who probably want _me_ dead." Charlie's eyes were closed, his voice soft. "I wish I could still be a kid.”

A flood of emotions flashed across Paton's face, finally settling on a mixture of understanding, sadness, and guilt. "Charlie," he sighed, rising tiredly from his chair. He took a seat next to Charlie on the bed, displacing yet another stack of books. "Dear boy, I wish I could tell you that everything will be alright.”

"It won't though." Charlie's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I'll always know that your sisters tried to run you over, and that Dagbert tried to drown Tancred. I'll always remember poor Mr. Crowquill, and Yolanda, and that _enchanter_ , and…" he blinked, willing the bitterness out of his voice.

Paton could not hide the guilty look that flitted across his face.

"It's not your fault, Uncle P," Charlie said with a small smile. "You've been here for me from the start of everything—probably more than anybody. Mom and Maisie try, but they're not endowed, and they weren't raised by those who were.”

Paton knew where the conversation was headed. He placed a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder and sighed. "Charlie, it's not your father's fault.”

Charlie pounded the bed. "Yes, it is! He's never here! I didn't even know him for ten years of my life; now, when I've finally found him, he's not here.”

“Charlie—"

"No, Uncle Paton, it's true, and you know it! He doesn't care about me!”

"Charlie, you know that isn't true," Paton said, frowning.

Charlie made as if to interrupt, but Paton cut him off. "Charlie, listen to me." Paton's voice was quiet, but his tone left no room for argument. "Your father loves you very much. I know it's hard for you that he isn't here, and that you haven't gotten to know him as well as you would like yet. I know it hurts that you haven't seen him in ten years, but think—he hasn't seen your mother in just as long.”

"I know," Charlie said, relenting. He scowled at the floor. "It doesn't make it any easier, though," he muttered.

Paton's stern gaze softened. "I know, Charlie, but he does care. He loves you.”

"I know that, I really do. I just have days where I really miss him...I understand, though, or at least I try.” Charlie looked at his uncle, silently asking for forgiveness.

Paton smiled. "I know you do, Charlie, and so does he.”

"I'm sorry about—“

"It's okay," Paton said, laying a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry.”

Tentatively, Charlie reached out and hugged his uncle. "Uncle P?”

"Hm?" Paton asked, overcoming his surprise and returning Charlie's embrace.

"I love you.”

Paton smiled, blinking rapidly so Charlie did not see the moisture collecting in his eyes, and squeezed his nephew’s shoulder tightly. "I love you too, Charlie."


	4. Kitchen Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grizelda and Paton have a chat in the kitchen of Number 9.

  
The kitchen of Number 9 was swathed in darkness, every corner covered in shadow. In the center of the table, a single candle flickered, its feeble light no match for the blanketing cover of night. The flame had just enough strength to illuminate the table and the man sitting at it, casting eerie shadows across his face.

Despite the early hour, he appeared wide awake, though exhausted. His black hair was messy and unkempt, as though he had been restlessly combing his fingers through it, and he had deep shadows underneath his eyes that hinted at a regime of far too little sleep.

The light in the hallway clicked on, and he looked up, startled.

  
"I thought I might find you in here, Paton." His sister's mocking voice floated through the kitchen door. "Planning how to next interfere with other people's business, no doubt.”

"What I do is of no concern to you, Grizelda," he said tiredly, "unless it's _your_ dastardly business with which I am interfering.”

A loud snort came from the direction of the hallway, followed by his sister herself. "I'm certain that I have no idea what you are talking about," she said, slinking over to the table and plopping herself down in the chair opposite from him.

"No?" he deadpanned, eyebrows rising. “Pity."

Flinging her long white braid behind her back, Grizelda turned in her seat to look at the hall light. "Why haven't you broken the bulb yet, Paton?" she taunted. "Are you losing your powers?" She leered at him from across the table. "Or, maybe you're just losing your grip. Looking a bit done in, aren't you?”

Paton sighed, shooting his sister a dark look. "If I am, it's your fault," he said. "However, I am merely tired.”

Grizelda glared. "Not tired enough, though, are you? You're still down here at odd hours of the night. Some of us can't get a good night's sleep knowing that you're skulking about down here.”

Paton pinched the bridge of his nose and gave his sister an irritated glare. "Really, Grizelda? _Skulking_?”

She harrumphed, nodding in affirmation. "Skulking. You just can't keep your nose out of other people's business anymore. You used to do an excellent job of keeping your head down.”

Across the table, Paton winced. "Only because I was too much of a coward to do otherwise. I've come to my senses now.”

"Because of Charlie," Grizelda said, glowering. "We had such high hopes for the boy, but he turned out to be a disappointment and a nuisance.”

A fierce smile lit up Paton's face, erasing days of fatigue. "Only to you, Grizelda. I couldn't be prouder of him.”

Grizelda exhaled loudly. "You corrupted the boy, Paton.”

"Or he corrupted _me_ ," Paton snipped, speaking more openly now to his sister than he had in many long years. "I owe so much to Charlie. He made me realize how much I had been missing by keeping my head down.”

Grizelda gripped the arms of her chair. "He messed with the status quo," she hissed. "He was supposed to work for us, and you were supposed to remain out of the way.”

"And yet," Paton said, leaning forward, "he isn't, and I most certainly am not." Idly, he inspected his fingernails. "You shall simply have to learn to deal with that fact, dear sister.”

A grimace appeared on her face and she looked at him severely. "Paton, you are a Yewbeam, and must act as such. Every other Yewbeam in this generation knows where they stand—on the side of the Bloors. Yet, here you are, gallivanting about after errant picture travelers, mooning after lady booksellers, and tracking down all sorts of superfluous research. You must toe the line!”

Finishing her speech, she drew herself up, glaring haughtily at him from across the table.

One black eyebrow arched. "Toe the line?" Paton repeated. "You, who have never done anything kind for me for as long as I can remember, expect me to listen to you and follow your every command without so much as one complaint?" His voice rose. "I most certainly will not! For the first time in my life, Grizelda, I am happy with who I am, and I will not allow you or anyone else to change that! And," he added, voice softening, "I definitely won't allow you to ruin Charlie's life. He deserves the chance to live as he pleases, and it is not up to you to change that.”

Grizelda's dark eyes were sullen under her thick white brows. "Well," she said stiffly, "I can see that once again we have reached an impasse. Your stubbornness is irritating, Paton.”

He raised a hand in mock salute. “Thank you. But I do mean every word I say, Grizelda.” His dark eyes glittered. “You would do well to remember that.”

“And I mean every word that I say," she replied. "Continue to get in our way, Paton, and you will get hurt.”

His black eyes smoldered. "You will not win, and if it is within my power to stop you, I will. Charlie will succeed, and he will thrive. That boy’s happiness is worth everything.”

Shoving her chair back, Grizelda stood up, glaring at her brother. "We will see. You were warned, Paton." She turned, marching back into the hallway.

Paton glanced at the light in the hall. It shattered with a light tinkle, sending a fine powder of glass raining down on his sister's head.  
She shrieked in alarm, the rich sound of Paton's laugher following her as she stumbled back into her room. 

"We will see," he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. "We will see, indeed."


	5. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paton takes a few minutes to rest his eyes.

Paton kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. His head was pounding out a steady rhythm against his skull, and he was so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open. He was sprawled out on the couch in the back room of the bookshop, feet propped up on the armrest, hoping that his prone position would somewhat ease his exhaustion.

To the alert and awake individual, the back room of Ingledew's Bookshop was comfortably lit, the bright afternoon sunlight streaming lazily through one of the windows. To Paton, however, the bright light only served to increase the throbbing of his head. He closed his eyes, filtering out the worst of the glare, and tried to drown out all of the extraneous thoughts currently churning about in his head.

Wincing as the door in the other room slammed closed, he situated himself more comfortably on the couch. Big enough to fit three adults seated side by side, the couch still wasn't quite long enough to accommodate Paton's height when he was lying down. He shifted a little, drawing his feet closer and contorting his body so that his back was resting against the armrest in a slightly more comfortable position.

He knew that sleep was really what he needed, not simply lying prone on the sofa, but another part of his brain—the part that had been driving him to work so hard the past few days—was telling him that he had far too many things to do to take a break.

Try as he might to relax, however, he could not overcome his fatigue.

Between worrying about Charlie—a pastime to which he has taken rather quickly—the hours he had spent helping Julia at the shop, and the time he had been dedicating to his research, he was exhausted. He rubbed his eyes, trying to ward away the relentless onslaught of fatigue. Julia needed him in the store; he couldn't afford to take some time off.

His body ignored him, sliding further onto the couch so that he was fully lying down, head pillowed on the armrest and knees curled toward the back.

In a desperate attempt to remain coherent, he picked up a book from a nearby stack and opened it to a random chapter. He held it in front of his face, his eyes traveling over words that his brain did not retain.

Distantly, he heard voices in the other room, but he refrained from turning to look, opting instead to lay his head back against the armrest. Tiredly, he let his hands drop. They fell to his chest, the book still clutched between them. Dark eyes were obscured as his eyes closed, and he gave in to pure exhaustion.

The world faded out of focus and Paton dozed, drifting back and forth between sleep and awareness.

The sound of footsteps against the wooden floor eventually brought him back to reality. He fought back the sleepy haze that clouded his thoughts, forcing his heavy eyelids open.

Julia's worried face swam into focus, her chestnut hair hanging in front of her face as she leaned over him. She struggled in and out of focus to him as he repeatedly lost the fight to keep his eyes open.

Finally, with great effort, he forced himself mostly awake. "Julia," he rasped, his voice still thick with sleep, "how long have you been in here? Do you need help in the shop?”

"No," she replied, "everything in the shop is fine." She took in his wan appearance and sighed. "You haven't been getting enough sleep lately, have you?”

Paton raised his head up from the couch. "Nonsense, my dear," he denied, pressing a hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to quell its ferocious pounding. "I'm fine. I never sleep much in any case.”

"That's true," Julia said, seizing the opportunity to slip a pillow behind his head, "but there is a difference between not sleeping much and not sleeping at all. And you, Paton, look done in!" Eyeing him sternly, she pushed him back onto the couch as he tried to rise. "You are not going anywhere.”

Too tired to vocally protest, Paton merely glared at her with somnolent defiance. Julia looked at him contemplatively, smoothing a hand across his forehead. She turned without warning and strode back into the bookshop, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be back in a minute, love.”

Paton was so tired that he barely noticed her leave. His eyes flickered a few times, his vision going in and out of focus as he struggled against his fatigue. The sound of footsteps brought him back to reality, and he opened eyes heavy with sleep to see Julia standing over him.

"Sleep, Paton," she said smiling. "I've closed the shop for the rest of the day, so you'll be able to rest now." Ignoring his sleepy protests, she plucked the book out of his hands and settled down in a nearby armchair. She laughed quietly to herself as she watched him desperately try to ward off sleep. "Paton," she said, leaning over, "you're exhausted. You need to sleep."

"But it's only five o'clock," he tried to object. All that came out, however, was a drowsy murmur.

Julia looked at him unsympathetically. "Paton, you've been running yourself ragged these past few weeks. You need to rest. Not to mention," she added, laughing, "you keep the hours of a vampire anyway. Taking rest while it's still light outside won't kill you.”

He could not find fault in that logic, and grinned, lips twisting into a wan smile. "That is true, my dear." Slowly, the defiance filtered out of him as he succumbed to his exhaustion. His head fell back against the pillow and his eyes closed. The last sight he saw before he slipped into oblivion was Julia.

He fell asleep smiling.


	6. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Paton grieves after his mother's death.

The dark-haired boy stood in the frigid sea, whipcord straight, the waves pounding into his slim frame with driving force. A cool breeze danced around the beach, causing his thick, black hair to whip wildly around his face. Scowling, he shook it out of his way, combing it behind his ears with wet fingers, and stared into the distance, his eyes hard.

Gloomy clouds hung low in the late afternoon sky, the horizon a depressing slate grey. Driven by wind and current, the waves came with increasing force, crashing against the beach and retreating in an endless, violent cycle. Nevertheless, the boy made no effort to avoid them, instead wading further into the breakers. Now the crushing water was up to his chest, the crashing waves sending icy jets of water blasting into his face.

Flinching, he squinted, shielding his eyes from the worst of the salty spray, the ocean-water mixing indeterminately with the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Thoughts rose—unbidden—in his mind, his tears now falling freely to stream down his cheeks. The waves continued to come, pounding into his shivering form, each swell bringing with it a different memory, driving them into his thoughts with unwavering force.

_CRASH_

His sisters' faces leered down at him, ill-concealed greed shining in their eyes—it was the day they had learned of his endowment. He was cold, so cold, despite the bright sunshine and the sounds of the ongoing party in the background, and all he could see before him was the darkness to which he had been cursed.

_CRASH_

Yolanda peered into his face, her horrific visage twisted into a look of utmost delight—the day she, too, had learned of his endowment.

_CRASH_

His parents were sitting side-by-side, their hands intertwined. They smiled, laughing off Yolanda's insistence that he remain with her at Yewbeam castle. When they thought it was safe, when they thought he had looked away, they exchanged nervous glances—but he had seen, he had known, he had watched and worried and wondered, and now—

—now it was too late.

_CRASH_

His mother lay broken and twisted at the bottom of the stairs; his sisters and Yolanda exchanged triumphant smiles.

“No!"

The tortured cry was torn from his lips against his will. Furiously, he waded further into the churning sea, fighting the undertow as he moved further into the surf, until finally an errant wave struck him down. He toppled, slight frame no match for the current, and disappeared beneath the waves, sucked under the water and tossed violently about. Arms flailing, he struggled against the current, gasping and choking as his traitorous lungs inhaled copious amounts of seawater. His feet scrabbled for a hold on the sandy bottom as he fought the toxic tug of the sea.

The current deposited him on the beach and he retched, ridding his lungs of all of the water that he had inhaled. Slowly, he sat up, gasping for air. His head reeled, and he sat on the beach for a minute, regaining his senses.

Head still spinning, dripping water, he staggered to his feet and waded back into the water, defiantly facing the oncoming waves. He rubbed salt out of his eyes with a trembling fist, his sopping hair clinging to his forehead in wide, black bands. His jaw was set as he squared his shoulders, facing the waves with eyes that were full of far too much pain for a boy his age.

“Paton?"

James’s voice rang out across the beach, barely audible over the violent crash of the surf.

Paton inclined his head slightly, canting an ear toward his father, but made no move to leave the water.

"Oh my—Paton!" James ran to the edge of the beach, face tight and drawn. "Come on, son, it's freezing out here!" He knelt, eyes wide, and held out his arms encouragingly.

Paton shivered violently despite himself as a particularly vicious gust of wind blew in, water streaming from his clothes and body. Nevertheless, he did not move, remaining waist-deep in the water and glaring out at the ocean.

"They killed her, Dad," he said, voice cracking. "They killed her, and they don't care.”

Tears flowed freely down his face, blurring his vision until all he could see was a grey haze as horizon and water mixed and blurred before him.

"How-how could they do that?" he asked, his voice wracked with sobs. "They're her _daughters_! Her own daughters let that…that _fiend_ kill her! I saw them. Grizelda, Lucretia, Eustacia, Venetia—“ his eyes hardened, “—Yolanda.” He spat the last name, eyes harder than any child’s should have been. “She…she was laying at the bottom of the stairs, broken, and they just smiled."

He sniffled, swiping his sopping arm futilely across his eyes, his entire body trembling with both cold and rage. “They smiled!" he roared suddenly. "Those conniving, backstabbing, heartless, gormless, two-faced sisters of mine just stood there and smiled! They didn't even pretend to be upset!”

James let his son rant, watching him with sad eyes. "I know, Paton," he sighed, reaching out slowly to grasp the corner of the boy’s drenched sleeve, "I know.” He tugged gently, hand closing entirely around Paton’s upper arm. “Now, come out of the water, son, come on.”

Paton turned, looking at his father with a haunted look in his young eyes. Slowly, he staggered forward, water sheeting from his trembling form. He stumbled, tripping over a stray shell, and James was there, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"It will be okay, son. Somehow, it will be okay.”

Paton shook, burying his head in his father's shoulder; if James noticed his shirt grow damp, he said nothing, only holding Paton tighter.

"I hate them." Paton's voice was quiet. "I hate them.”

James’s face crumpled, and he tucked Paton’s head under his chin, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head. "Don't hate them, Paton. Whatever you do, don't hate them.” He felt Paton shift against him, and shook his head, feeling an argument brewing. “Don’t son—in this, I'm both older and wiser than you are. Hate is a serious emotion, and to me, at least, it brings to mind a dislike strong enough to kill.”

Paton flinched.

James, seemingly ignoring this, continued, "Would you— _could_ you—kill your sisters?”

Mutely, Paton shook his head.

James nodded, pleased. "I thought not.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Paton in quiet contemplation, James distressed for his son.

Finally, Paton shifted, pulling back from his father’s embrace to stare up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "Yolanda," he croaked. His hands balled into fists, and James could feel his muscles tense. "I hate Yolanda.” He took a hitching, hiccoughing breath. “I hate her," he repeated, with conviction. He had never been surer about anything in his short life. "I hate her," he whispered, tears streaming silently down his face. "I shouldn't, but I _do_.”

James lowered his face so that it was level with Paton's. He reached up and wiped his son's face, clearing away the tears that were forming in his red eyes. "I understand," he said simply.

It was all that had to be said.


	7. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paton gets injured and is less than subtle about hiding it. Julia calls him on it.
> 
> Slight CW for descriptions of blood.

Paton closed the door with a soft click, leaning heavily against the age-worn wood. Passing a hand briefly over his eyes, he couldn’t help but wince as the simple movement tugged at his ribs and sent a sharp, stabbing pain licking up his side. His skin throbbed, a steady, searing agony pulsing with each throb of his weary heart, each beat and every labored breath sending residual sparks of distress licking through his lean frame. His fingers twitched, flitting up to shakily poke at the wound.

Panting softly, Paton slunk into the kitchen, darting a furtive glance towards Julia's turned back as he carefully maneuvered across the room. His dark hair was in disarray, dried sweat plastering it to his face, and his once-black shirt and pants were now covered by a thick layer of dirt and grime. He looked a mess, he knew, and the last thing he needed was for Julia to notice.

"You're back early," Julia commented without turning, her attention bent on the dough she was kneading. “Weren’t you intending to return tomorrow?" She kept her eyes turned to her cooking, her arms and apron both dusted with a light layer of flower, her focus on her bread.

Knowing she could not see him, Paton curled his lips back in a silent grimace, teeth clenched as he prodded the wound once again. "Something like that," he said, masking his discomfort. "Things didn't quite go according to plan, though." Unconsciously, his hand flitted up along his side, tracing the long gash that lay diagonally across his ribs.

"Oh?" Julia knew him well enough to know he was avoiding having to disclose certain information. Slowly, she turned away from the beginnings of her bread to face him, one eyebrow upturned. "How did they not?”

Inwardly, Paton cursed himself for his slip. He knew better than to divulge even the slightest hint that something was amiss—Julia could pick up on his weaknesses in seconds. "It's nothing, my dear." A jovial smile plastered across his face, he waved away her questions. "I'm back now, aren't I?"

His subconscious rolled its imaginary eyes. _That_ wouldn't make her suspicious.

"Ye-es," Julia drew out the word, staring at Paton from beneath drawn brows and slowly tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "I don't feel like you're telling me the entire truth.” She hummed under her breath, her frown and her worry growing as she finally, fully took in his disheveled appearance for the first time. "Paton.." she began, taking a step toward him.

Paton raised a hand to forestall her insinuations and then froze, face contracting in pain. "Nngh." He winced, curling one hand around his side, and leaned heavily against the wall. The charade was up.

Instantly, Julia was beside him, grasping his hand and attempting to pry it away from his body. "You liar." Her tone was chastising, but also held the slightest hint of 'I-told-you-so.' "You said you were fine.”

Paton grimaced by way of reply, firmly and protectively stationing his free arm in front of the wound. "And I am," he insisted, scowling. "It's a scratch, nothing to worry about.” He turned further out of Julia's grasp, drawing his shirt tightly around the cut.

Julia threw her arms up into the air, exasperated. "I don't know about you, Paton, but where I come from any injury that causes that much pain is hardly _minor_." She pointed a finger up at him, glaring into his startled face. "Now, you're going to let me look at that injury if I have to make you.”

Paton knew quite well that she would not back down, nor that he should even attempt to dissuade her. Shoulders taut and back straight in the face of defeat, he slowly relaxed his defenses. His body took that as a sign to all but collapse, sagging against the wall as his knees threatened to betray him.

Julia nodded. “I thought so. Now, let me take a look." Gently, she grasped the hem of his shirt, lifting it slightly to reveal his abdomen and side, the wound gaping raw and red even beneath its wrappings. "Oh, Paton!" Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, the shirt fluttering back down to cover the marred skin. "How on earth did this happen?"

The wound was large, a long, diagonal slash across his lower ribs. A once-white bandage, haphazardly wrapped around the middle of his torso, concealed the worst of it, but Julia could see the shape of the cut outlined in a bloody red line against the gauze. The bandages themselves were half a day old at least and caked with dried blood, and the skin around the bandage pulsed an angry red, the wound glaringly obvious against Paton's natural pallor.

Overcoming her shock, Julia lifted the shirt once more, and Paton winced as she prodded the area around the cut with gentle fingers. "Just a hazard of the job, I'm afraid," he demurred, shrugging in an unconvincing attempt to appear unconcerned. The motion caused the bandage to rub against the gash, and he clenched his teeth, hissing in pain.

Instantly, gentle fingers were there, holding him still and pulling away the abrasive coverings. "These are going to have to come off," Julia said decisively. Her face was set into a determined mask, and her free hand held him tightly in place, preventing him from fleeing her ministrations.

"Ah," Paton frowned, backing away as far as her grasp allowed, "I don't think that's the best idea, my dear.”

"Nonsense." Julia stepped closer and grasped his shoulder, firmly steering him towards the kitchen. "It will get infected if you leave it." She drew back and gave him a knowing look. “And I assume you don’t want to go to a hospital?” As his lips thinned, she nodded sharply. “I thought not.” Unbuttoning his shirt, she stripped it off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair, setting to work removing the ineffective bandages. Her nose wrinkled as she took in his torso. "When was the last time you had a bath, mister?" she teased, poking his dirt-browned chest.

Paton sighed heavily. "I have no idea," he lamented, all but falling into one of the kitchen chairs. He perched in the wooden seat at an awkward angle, stretching his long legs out beneath him so that the cut easily accessible.

"I thought as much," Julia replied, flitting over to the counter. She returned a minute later toting a first aid kit, a bowl of water and several crisp towels, and set them on the table beside him. "Now," she said as she worked, delicately peeling back the sweat and blood-soaked coverings, "would you care to explain exactly _how_ you got this giant slash. Paton, you promised nothing you were doing would be dangerous!”

He laughed humorlessly, doing his best not to flinch away from her gentle touch. "With relatives like mine, even the most menial task becomes dangerous.”

Julia paused in her bandage removal, fingers resting lightly on his stomach. "Did one of _them_ cause this?" she asked, horrified. "What terrible people—but then, I guess we already knew that!" Her grip tightened unconsciously.

Plucking her hand from his stomach, Paton held it in both of his and looked up at her earnestly. "I'm fine, Julia," he insisted, doing his best to act as though every nerve ending between his neck and hips were not screaming in pain.

Julia raised her eyes to the ceiling. "And I'm a werewolf. Paton, you're bleeding all over my kitchen floor. That hardly constitutes 'fine.'"

The bandagers were off now, and tossed into an unceremonious heap on the floor. Exposed to Julia's critical gaze, the wound appeared even worse than before, red and raw and oozing.

"Right, then." Her voice took on a professional timber. "Disinfectant, new bandages…" She rummaged through the first aid kit. "Ah, here we are!" She pulled them out and set them aside. "But first, we have to clean off all this blood." She moistened one of the towels and drew it gently across the wound, clearing away rusty old blood as well as newer, liquid red. Paton bit his lip to avoid expressing his discomfort, but Julia noticed nevertheless. "I'm sorry," she said, continuing her task, "but it has to be done.”

Slathering the antiseptic across the raw, red cut, Julia looked down at Paton, lips pursed. "You, mister, are confined here until you start to heal." Sensing that he was about protest, she narrowed her eyes. "That is an order. Otherwise, you'll only go off and get hurt even _worse_ , and maybe next time you won't be so lucky, and—" She broke off and sniffed, shaking her head furiously and swiping a hand across her eyes. "Silly man," she said thickly, voice wavering.

Paton stood and grasped her shoulders, gingerly drawing her into his arms. "It's not as bad as it seems, my dear," he soothed, meeting her soft brown eyes with his sable gaze. "If I promise to be more careful in the future, will you forgive me?”

Julia shook her head, fumbling distractedly with the ties of her apron. "I was never mad or upset to begin with—just worried." She buried her face in his chest.

Paton hugged her close—then winced. As Julia had gone to return the embrace, her hand had grazed the still-raw cut, brushing across the tender skin. Julia drew back, a stern glint in her eye. "Upstairs and into bed with you," she commanded brusquely, her emotional outburst disappearing as fast as it had arrived.

"I'm fine," he protested, nevertheless turning towards the stairs. "I feel as though I could run a marathon, go digging for buried treasure, dance a jig..." He grinned. "Why, I'll be right as rain in no time!”

Julia smiled at his retreating back, lips quirking into an amused smile. "Liar," she said, "but I love you anyway, you foolish man.”


	8. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small slice of life set during the time when Paton was coming and going on various personally-assigned missions.

The first knock on the solid wooden door was soft, just the lightest of taps, so gentle that Julia Ingledew, immersed as she was in her book, failed to hear it. The following knock was louder, more intense, the sharp rap of knuckles on wood conveying a sense of urgency, if such a thing were possible of a simple knock. Still Julia remained deaf, her attention concentrated on the thick book cradled in her hands. The third knock was the loudest of them all, echoing throughout the shop and the cozy, candlelit sitting room beyond with a wooden thud that even Julia could not ignore.

She came back to herself in a flash, her mind torn away from the feudalistic history from which it had been buried since long before the present midnight hour. A sudden burst of adrenaline surged through her with the fourth, booming knock, and she jumped to her feet, her book abandoned without second thought as she hastened to the door. She tried to peer out into the dark gloom beyond, past experiences guiding her caution, but could see nothing through the dark cloak of the early hour. There was nothing to it but to open the door.

One hand lightly grasping the tarnished brass knob, she undid her series of locks and swung the heavy slab of wood open.

The moment the door was open wide enough to emit the faintest sliver of the midnight sky, Paton was inside, gusting in with a cool burst of fall air, a tall, dark mass of black clothing and pale skin even whiter with cold.

Julia gasped slightly at seeing him, for he had been gone without word for over a month, and now stood tall and dark against the wooden backdrop of the door in the entrance of her shop, wild-eyed and coated with a thin layer of silvery dust and all but shaking with exhaustion.

"Paton!" The exclamation escaped her lips almost unknowingly, a breathy exhalation loaded with so much emotion that it was remarkable her words were even understandable. It had been nearly a month since she had seen him last—too long, far too long. So long, in fact, that had the hour been any other, had she not been caught up in the cruel dredges of solitude and heartsickness only hours before, she would have found much more energy to direct towards irritation at his extended absence.

As it was, though, the mere sight of him set her heart aflutter, made her pulse race and her eyes glow. It had been so _long_ since she had touched him, since he had held her in his arms, since she had felt his skin on hers and his lips against her own.

And now _finally_ he stood before her, methodically shucking off layer after layer of external clothing—clearly he had been farther north, as he wore a thick coat with scarf and gloves, and the city was only just now experiencing the first stirrings of autumn. He did not say a single word in that brief span of time, his attention dedicated to the sole task of ridding himself of extraneous layers.

Julia took advantage of the silence to admire the man who stood before her. Even on the brink of exhaustion—as he so obviously was—Paton held himself with a certain bearing, a lazy sort of alertness that told even the most unobservant eye that he was not a man to be trifled with. At times such as this, he was almost leonine, lean and lithe, all quiet power and grace, his dark hair falling into his face like a shaggy mane. Watching him shrug out of yet another sweater, Julia longed for him to break the silence, or at least give some acknowledgement of her presence. Finally he was left standing before her in just a simple black shirt and pair of slacks, dark eyes gleaming with an emotion that conveyed just how much he _had_ noticed in his moments of silence. It was a look that startled her with its intensity even as it warmed her to the very core of her being, and she shivered in her thin blouse, crossing her arms.

"Paton," she said again, taking a step toward him, "where have you—"

That was the closest she could come to voicing the first of many questions that bubbled to her lips, for then she was in his arms, his hands pressing her to his chest, his lips desperately seeking hers. All of her questions fled, chased away by much more immediate thoughts.

Paton sought her embrace like a thirsty man seeking water, a cool draught to wash away poorly-endured agony. She could feel him trembling against her, knew some was exhaustion, even pain—the man was remarkably stubborn regarding injuries—but knew just as well that the majority of it was pure emotion. He had missed her just as much as she him, and whether it was the unusual hour or simple, unadulterated loneliness, he had temporarily shed any reservations about expressing it.

Paton radiated emotion, even when he believed himself to be at his most reserved. Oh, for those who didn't know him, who had not studied his face and bearing, Paton was as emotionally isolated as a human was possible of being. For her, though, she who had taken every opportunity to memorize his very being, he was an open book regardless of how he tried to present himself.

When he sat at desk reading, for example, she could simply glance in his direction once and determine his mood: a stiff back indicated intent focus on the material at hand, a slouch his waning interest, a slight curl of the lip blatant disagreement, an intense gaze at the material in his book all but screaming that his thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

And, when he turned his full attention on her—Paton managed to make her pulse race and her skin burn with even the most innocent of looks. His dark eyes could flow seamlessly from gentle and teasing to smolderingly intense and back again, sending her heart jumping into her throat with even a fleeting glance. The torment was delicious, the daily agony of living without his presence, without his touch, simply building up to the delightful avalanche of utter satisfaction when he finally returned. Julia was head-over-heels in love—so much that she couldn't even bring herself to care who knew it.

In his arms now, she was feather-light, floating high above whatever reality that she inhabited in her daily life. If this was real, then life was heaven. She sighed lightly against his kiss, her lips parting slightly as she released tension from her muscles she didn't even know she had been holding.

He capitalized on her moment of weakened guard, drawing his tongue lightly across her lips before twining it with hers. He tasted of chocolate, and autumn, and long nights spent out in darkness, and everything deliciously forbidden and tantalizingly beyond reach. It was a taste she craved from the first moment it met her lips—a craving that never went away.

Of course, if one were to ask Paton, Julia was just as divine—a sweet, comforting delicacy dusted with honey and warm spice and just a hint of adventure. He was addicted, Julia the soothing aloe to the burn that seared him in her absence.

Drawing back, panting slightly, Paton looked down into her eyes, molten honey in the dancing firelight. "I missed you," he murmured, bending to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. His grip on her did not loosen, his hands instead tightening around her waist and pulling her even more tightly to him as he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes so that his long dark lashes just tickled the pale skin of his cheek.

Julia's lips turned upward in a tender smile, and she extracted one hand from where it was wound around his neck to bring it up to his cheek, tracing a pattern across his jawbone. "I know," she murmured, her smile widening as he leaned into her caress, all but humming with pleasure. She continued to ghost her hand along his face, tracing around his eyes, his nose and mouth, only ceasing her movement as he caught her roving hand with his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. "I missed you as well.”

His eyes opened then, alight with a spark of mischief, and he captured her hand in his, carefully winding it back around his neck. "Did you now," he mused quietly, drawing his hand tantalizingly slow along her side, just the faintest of touches, until it joined its companion wrapped snugly around her waist.

"I did." The words came out as a heavy whisper, her breath all but stolen by his ministrations. She was barely able to voice the words of her reply before he had leaned in close to her once more, lips inches from her ear.

"Well," he murmured, warm breath ghosting over the curved shell of her ear and sending goosebumps rippling across her flesh, "I'll tell you a secret." He paused for a moment, lips just brushing her ear, then moved his attention downward, ghosting kisses along the smooth white length of her neck. He lingered here and there, lips moving gently as he mapped a trail of kisses along the satin skin of her neck.

By this point Julia was putty in his arms, lost in the sensations that were running through every nerve and overloading every synapse in her body. "Hmmmm?" The sound was more of a sigh than a question. Her grip around his neck tightened as she pressed herself even closer to him, seeking as much contact as possible.

His lips were at the hollow of her neck now, and when his tongue darted out to taste her alabaster skin Julia thought she just might melt. Paton smiled against her skin as he felt her shiver. "I missed you more."


	9. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paton has survived the final battle...now he has to survive Julia, and, more importantly, win her back.

_Squeeeeeeeeak._

Up.

_Squeeeeeeeeak._

Down.

_Squeeeeeeeeak._

Paton lay in the hospital bed with his eyes closed, idly pressing the buttons on the pad beside him to send it creaking upwards and back down again in a repetitive pattern. He amused himself in this manner for a few moments, staring idly at the ceiling as his bed obnoxiously rose and fell. Finally, he brought the mattress to a halt, allowing it to rest at its standard horizontal position he sighed and flopped his head back against the pillows, dark hair fanning out across the white sham.

He had been given his own room this time, the city hospital long since accustomed to his particular peculiarities after his numerous visits over the course of the years. The arrangement worked well, for he had no nosy roommate and was free to control the lights at his leisure—and thus left himself in the dark with only the thin light trickling though the tiny window for company.

Shifting slightly to the right with a groan, Paton struggled to maneuver himself into a more comfortable position. A sharp pain shot through his chest with the movement, and he could not suppress a pained wince at the dull throb radiating from the wound. Though the actual injury was well-covered, he knew that beneath layers of bandages the asymmetrical hole just above his heart would be red and angry, skin puckered and weeping around the arrow's path of entry.

Raising his hand to his chest, he placed two fingers over the injury, feeling the pulsing, fevered heat radiating from the wound even through multiple layers of linen. The arrow had gone deep, penetrating his clothes to pierce his vulnerable skin and drive him to the ground. For a time, he had known nothing, hovering between the brink of life and death, fading in and out of consciousness as the world kept on around him.

He had awoken to the bright lights and relentless clamor of voices he had come to associate with the emergency room with a witty “Aha,” and then promptly passed out again.

They told him that he was lucky to be alive, that had the arrow penetrated any deeper he would have been a dead man. He knew it was morbid, that he should consider himself fortunate to have survived, but he had to stop himself and ponder if he _was_ lucky to have emerged from the final battle at all. Good had triumphed over evil, but—Julia still despised him, and of what worth or significance was a life without her?

Heaving a great sigh, Paton returned to his exploitation of the mechanical bed frame, creaking it up and down and up and down until the irritated scowl of a passing nurse stilled his fingers in their idle quest. "If I can't have my future can I at least go home and be miserable there?" he asked the ceiling, glaring dourly up at the darkened drywall.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" A slight figure dressed in nurses' scrubs slipped through the door, lurking in the shadowy corners of the twilight-darkened room. "What future do you think you are missing?”

Paton rolled his eyes. Three days in the hospital, with nearly triple that in unwarranted visitors. Nurse after nurse had a habit of dropping by to talk, drawn by his dark good looks, quiet reticence, and unusual wound inviting themselves into his confidence and attempting to entice him into conversation. He was quite certain that the last time he had been in the hospital it had only been the staffs’ jobs to keep him _alive_ , not to force him into mundane conversation with each check of his vitals or changing of his bandages—and, for that matter, to only do _those_ tasks on an as-needed basis, rather than every few hours throughout the day.

He was sick and tired of all of it, wanting only to hole up in the dark and avoid the world for a good long while. His business was his and his alone.

"Well," he finally muttered, resting a hand over his eyes and praying for a modicum of patience, for he knew well that he had to at least say _something_ or his unwanted visitor would never leave, "any future without Julia is no future at all…and I do believe I've lost her for good.”

"And who is this Julia?" his uninvited visitor inquired, voice soft. He could see her shift slightly in her corner, as though wanting to draw closer

It may have been the pain medication, or possibly just the erosion of his emotional shell by the events of the last few days, but Paton found himself baring more of his soul to this stranger than he had to any of the previous invaders combined. "She, I—" he stammered, searching for adequate words, finally settling on a murmured, "I love her." He closed his eyes and pretended that he wasn't siphoning off his emotions to a total stranger, letting the despair and loneliness and exhaustion that had been gnawing at his mind roll off of him in thick waves. "She is my life, my everything, but—“

He paused and swallowed, throat convulsing as he summoned the words and courage to continue, the words spilling out of him in a torrent. "I lived a dangerous life for a time. People—bad people—sought me out and attempted to eliminate me at any cost. When that failed, they turned to a weakness they knew they could exploit—the people I love. I thought if I pushed them away I could spare them a painful fate, protect them from harm. I buried myself in the research and fought every instinct to return to them, and to her. The sooner I could bring the conflict to an end, the sooner I could ensure the world would be safe for her.

He flinched and gave a sorrowful half-shrug, wincing as the motion tugged at his stitches. "Instead, I drove away the love of my life." His voice caught in his chest and took on a tenor of self-loathing. "Instead, she detests me, and is well within her rights to do so.” Laughing, he drew his hand over his face, closing his eyes. “And now I’ve given my life story to a total stranger, and I’m still alone.”

His companion, who had sat silently all through this cathartic outpouring, finally moved, shifting forward infinitesimally. Her face was impossible to make out in the shadows of the darkened room. As Paton’s speech came to an end, she stepped forward into the only glimmer of light left trickling through the window, and he could see the faintest outline of unshed tears sparkling in honeyed brown eyes. "Not alone, Paton," she said thickly, seizing one of his hands between both of hers and bringing it to her lips. "Never alone.”

"Julia?" he asked in disbelief, the words tumbling from between numb lips. “How?"

Smiling around her watery expression, she quirked an eyebrow. "The nurses around here are far too careless with their stash of spare scrubs," she remarked, her lips turning up in a mischievous grin.

Paton let out a strangled laugh and reached out to catch her hands in his, pulling her down to sit awkwardly in his lap, her legs sticking out over the side of the bed.

"Paton!" she squawked, laughing despite her cumbersome, inelegant position, "let me up!"

He shook his head, lips pressed together in a broad smirk. "Nope. I quite like you where you are." Julia squirmed in his lap, trying to escape his tight grip.

"Paton, you had an arrow sticking out of your chest not eighteen hours ago," she protested. "You should not be doing _anything._ ”

His lips pulled away from his teeth in a flashing smile. "Not even _this_?" he queried, before darting forward and pressing his lips to hers.

Startled, Julia instinctively jerked away, then settled into his embrace as her body and mind slowly relaxed. Humming contentedly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, gripping his back with firm hands and pulling him more tightly against her. How she had longed for this contact! For _months_ now they had been separated, first by his stubbornness and then by her own. She had missed him even more when _she_ had been the force holding them apart, for she had known he was home and safe but had intentionally refrained from contacting him.

They had been the longest weeks of her life, those days spent forcing herself away from him, refraining from checking on him or giving in to her driving desires. Many a night had passed when she awoke trembling from cold and loneliness, or jolting awake with a breathless gasp as she lurched out of nightmares in which she watched Paton hurt, saw him fall and die, time and time again. The love binding her to him had gripped her heart in an iron fist, dragging her toward him with a force that it physically _hurt_ to resist.

This kiss took all of that loneliness, all of that love and longing, and magnified it tenfold, both her feelings and the ones that he so obviously reciprocated. Lips moved together, teeth clashing and breath melding, as Paton unleashed all of the love and agonizing loneliness that had been accumulating within him.

Clever hands dances lightly across his shoulders, tickling his neck and dipping into the hollow of his throat. Grinning wickedly at his depressed sigh as she drew back from his questing lips, Julia turned her attention to his neck and chest, following the path her fingers had already carved out with a lazy swipe of her tongue.

At the slick flick of her tongue against his skin, Paton growled, the sound rumbling up from his chest and emerging as such a wild, uncensored sound that Julia shivered in delicious anticipation.

He shifted his grip form where it cradled the back of her head and dragging it leisurely down through her thick mass of curls to rest at the small of her back. Feeling her tremble in his grasp, he dipped his head down and molded his mouth to hers once again, worrying her lower lip between his teeth.

Julia moaned into his mouth and pressed herself fiercely against him, all but laying atop him on the narrow, lumpy hospital bed.

"Love you," he murmured fiercely against her lips. "Love you so much, never stop loving you." Delving back into her mouth, he slipped his tongue between her lips, drinking in the taste of her like a draught of long-denied water. She was perfection, honey and a warm spice all of her own, soft and pliable in his arms.

Drawn apart by a growing need for oxygen, Julia exhaled, striving to coach her breathing back under her control and regain at least a minor semblance of composure. "I love you too," she told him, brushing a soft kiss across his throat and leaning up to tuck her chin beneath his head.

Paton reached out to wrap an arm around her waist, but the movement tugged at his still-raw chest and he winced, a hiss of pain escaping from between his clenched teeth despite his best efforts to contain it.

Instantly, Julia withdrew, surging to her feet and giving him a wry glare. "Oh, Paton," she exclaimed, fussing over him like a mother hen, "I forgot all about your poor chest!" She ignored his muttered, "Well that was the i _ntent_ ," and turned her attention to straightening out her clothes and hair, smoothing away the rumpled evidence of their affection. "The kinder you are to your injury the sooner you can be released," she chided. "We both know where your thoughts stand on hospitals.”

Paton's mouth slid into a thin line, and he acknowledged the accuracy of her statement with a stilted jerk of his head. "But I want you, my dear," he said plaintively. " _All_ of you," he added pointedly, quirking an eyebrow and running his eyes up and down her body.

"And you shall," she vowed, smiling a smile that promised much to come, "once you are discharged.”

Paton fidgeted in bed, clearly dissatisfied with his inability to leave or act. Lean fingers fiddled with the fringe of the thin hospital-issue sheets as he disappeared on some stray train of thought, mind temporarily removed from the present in pursuit of some elusive decision. When he finally reached a decision the change was tangible, clarity sparking back into his eyes with a swift jolt.

"I had meant to save this question for a far more…appropriate time and setting," he began, suddenly seeming as hesitating as a high schooler on his first date, "but recent events have served and excellent job of putting everything in perspective." Ignoring Julia's disapproving frown and the insistent flash of pain that shot through the wound in his chest, he maneuvered himself so that he was laying half on his side, supported by his left elbow and knew, the right leg spread out long. Had he been upright, the position would have been akin to kneeling on the floor.

"Julia," he said, his face canvassed with shades of uncertainty and emotion, "I know this is far from conventional, my dear, but…" He released her fingers for a brief moment and slid his hand beneath the sheets, re-emerging with a small velvet-covered box clutched in his large palm. "I've waited far too long to ask you this, my dear," he said, snapping the box open with a deft flick of his fingers to expose a gleaming band of white gold with an elegantly-cut diamond mounted in the center.

"Julia, my love, will you marry me? I can't go another day without you by my side. You are a jewel, everything to me and more, a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate woman who sees _something_ in this flawed old power booster." He broke off, further enunciation escaping him.

Julia gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. "Paton," she stammered, "how long have you been planning this?”

He looked at her sheepishly. "Months,' he confessed. "I just didn't want the war to put you at risk, and the time was never right, and I was scared that—" He blushed and looked down.

"That?" Julia prompted, her voice tender.

"That you would refuse me," he whispered down to the sheets.

Instead of replying out loud, Julia took his extended hand in both of hers, plucking the box from between his numb fingers and sliding the elaborate band onto her trembling ring finger. "Oh, my love," she breathed, "I could never refuse you. Not in this, not in _anything_." Leaning toward him, she tilted his chin up with gentle finger and brought her lips chastely to his. The kiss was tender and full of compassion, all sweetness and love and everything they both held dear. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth, breath ghosting over his lips in a gentle exhalation of the simplest, most genuine truth between them.

"And I you," he murmured, tracing one long index finger along the smooth curve of her cheek.

It didn't matter that they were in a hospital, that Paton was bruised and bandaged, that the sun outside had set on a day of violence. They had each other, and the promise of forever, and that was more than enough.


	10. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Charlie and Paton first meet Julia in Book 1.

"I'd forgotten how this feels," Paton confessed, looking down at his hands rather than meet the honeyed eyes of the rather stunning woman seated across from him.

Her brows drew together. "How what feels?" she replied, tone quizzical. They had done nothing but meet for coffee in a local bistro, sitting out below the superfluous mini-umbrellas amid the bright rays of the late morning sun. Julia could find nothing out of the ordinary in the situation, but clearly the dark haired man opposite her thought otherwise.

She wasn't yet certain what to make of Paton Yewbeam. She knew he was the errant uncle of young Charlie Bone, that his height, darkly intense eyes, and nearly vampiric coloring—as well as an undetectable something _else—_ set him far and away from most of society. He was an absolute enigma; and, as the long shelf of her mystery novels could attest, Julia Ingledew was not one to turn her nose up at a puzzle.

Her lips quirked in the makings of a minuscule smile as she thought. She had enjoyed spending time with Paton, thus far. And, it wasn't as though he were hard on the eyes, either—not that she would _ever_ confess to such a notion. His skin was pale, yes, but nevertheless had a healthy glow that bespoke of time spent active, covering a strong, narrow jaw and sharp cheekbones and framing an altogether pleasing face. His hair was clean-cut but shaggy, nearly brushing his shoulders in back, a black as dark as pitch and feather soft to her questing eyes. A part of her (the bold, daring, _wanton_ part, she thought fervently, frantically burying the notion) wanted nothing more than to comb it back from his face, drawing her fingers through the silky strands.

His frame was narrow, clothes fitted well enough to reveal the lean muscle of one who has taken the time to hone his body—perhaps as a runner, as he was far too tall to be any sort of acrobat—but who also didn’t necessarily finish all of his meals. Julia found even the man's height to be intriguing. At five-ten, she considered herself among the taller class of women, but Paton Yewbeam made her feel little better than a dwarf. At six and a half feet, he towered above anyone and everyone nearby—and did so without managing to impose too much an intimidating presence upon anyone.

It had crossed Julia's mind more than once that she would fit _just so_ in his grasp, head tucked beneath his chin— she banished the thought with an irritated flick of her head. No! She barely even _knew_ the man, yet here she was mentally dissembling every part of him—her cheeks flushed as her mind wandered. Best not to go down that route, either.

Realizing that it had been far too long a gap in their conversation, she wrenched her mind back to the present and looked across their table to her companion.

Paton, for his part, had been more than content to simply sit and admire the elegant woman seated opposite as her mind traipsed off on whatever path it was that it had so obviously stumbled upon. He had never met a fairer individual, in either mind or body. Her intellect was comparable to his—all ego aside, his mind was incredibly well-honed—her interests acutely similar to those he himself pursued, and she was also the most stunning creature he had ever beheld.

Chestnut hair cascaded down to frame a flawless, heart-shaped face which housed the most expressive pair of honeyed brown eyes he had ever seen. Every time she spoke his eyes were drawn to her lush pink lips, his mind unintentionally dwelling on the curious thought of how she would react were he to meet them with his own.

He watched as she returned to reality from her musings, a certain sense of awareness snapping back into her eyes as her mind realigned with the present. He noted the slight panic in her expression with no small amount of amusement, and wondered where it was her mind had taken her. He also hoped her mental meanderings had adequately distracted her from their earlier conversation.

He had been dangerously close to opening up, to exposing a part of himself that rarely ever saw the light of day. Luck eluded him, however, for Julia simply repeated her question, effortlessly sliding back into their conversation as if it had never broken flow.

"What is it you'd forgotten?" she queried, propping her elbows on the table and leaning forward to rest her chin on the back of her conjoined hands.

Paton squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze. "This," he finally said, waving a general hand to encompass the entirety of their situation. "Being out in society, meeting with someone else in the daytime, talking over coffee.." He blushed and looked down at the table, studiously avoiding her eyes; if he were going down, might as well say it all. In for a penny, and all that. "Having a friend," he concluded softly.

For the first time in a very long time, Julia was at a complete loss for words. Here was this man—this intelligent, tall, imposing, _attractive_ man—confessing to her that he barely had any friends, that he did not socialize or present himself at public situations. She had known he was relatively isolated, holding himself aloof from society, but to hear him confess to being nearly a hermit was almost saddening. Such a wonderful individual should not see the need to closet himself away.

Her face must have registered a strange mix of emotions, for Paton immediately flushed and looked anywhere but her, fidgeting madly with the cloth napkin he clutched in his long fingers. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "I should not have presumed—“

Julia shocked them both by reaching a hand out to still his restless fidgeting, her fingers curling gently around his and stopping them in their tracks. "No," she said, a small smile on her lips, "it's alright.”

At the contact, Paton went rigid, his spine stiff and straight, his frame radiating as if he had just been struck by a bolt of lightning. She was touching him, had willingly initiated contact—and after he had all but confessed to being a self-designated hermit, too.

Sensing his unease, Julia left her fingers where they lay, smiling reassuringly in his direction but otherwise remaining absolutely still. She sensed that contact for him was a rather large issue, and after taking the plunge she was not willing to risk shattering the fragile bond that her movement had erected between them.

Slowly, Paton began to relax, his posture sagging back into a comfortable range, the tension and fear draining from his face and leaving him looking rather contented. Tentatively, he flipped one of his hands over, cradling her much smaller hand in his large palm, fingers trailing lightly along her silken skin.

Now it was Julia's turn to freeze, her breath hitching in her chest at the contact, her skin tingling as his fingertips traced a gentle pattern along the back of her hand.

How long they sat like that neither could say. It was Paton who finally broke the spell, stilling his hands and simply holding one of hers between both of his own. "I think," he said slowly, looking across the table to stare intently into her eyes, "that I should like to take you out to dinner.”

The invitation was so surprising that for a moment Julia forgot to respond, sitting limply in her seat, her hands putty in his own. Remembering herself, she recalled her brain from whatever field trip it had taken and managed to stammer out a suitable sentence of acceptance. "That…that would be lovely," she said, a slight blush staining her already-rosy cheeks.

Paton smiled, a true, brilliantly white smile that slowly spread to cover his whole face. "Excellent," he said, then planted a light kiss to her knuckles. "I look forward to it.”

Julia was staggered. Her skin burned from where his lips had brushed it, and her face felt as though it were aflame. She met his smile with one of her own, beaming more brightly than the sun that bore down on them from above.

"So do I," she replied. "So do I.”


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Paton's months of traveling research looking for answers about the Red King and the endowed.

Paton stood out before his tent, the only living soul for miles around, a tall speck standing out amid a long-barren field. His research often took him far from home, carrying him through countries and across continents, across seas and streams and down dirt-packed roads long devoid of travelers. Information and knowledge could be found in all sorts of locales, after all, and more often than not that which he sought was of a manner not typically transcribed to a traditional text.

Every now and then he would pass through a town or city, linger briefly for a bite of real food and a snippet of human interaction, or pause for a stint of necessary local research. Then, he was off again, his desire for companionship only partially quenched, a half-filled glass left unattended as he bent his being to his task once more. His missions were both long and short, but always accompanied by a melancholy pang throbbing in his heart as pushed farther and farther from his true home.

Nights like these were the hardest, these brisk, cool autumn nights where he stood alone, isolated from the world and all of its inhabitants. He stood an exile, cast out amid the very heart of nature with only his thoughts for company. Home was a far-off memory on these nights, little more than a dream, a fleeting flash of love and affection that burst amid his heart like fireworks, bright and radiant and then gone far too quickly.

It had been a full month this time, a full month since had been home and been at rest—thirty-two long, lonely days since he had spoken to his family, since he had even the most ephemeral glimpse of Julia's face. It had been an entire week since he had even seen another human being; the last gas station he had passed had been deserted, the sort of pay and self-serve sort of deal one encounters on the outskirts of civilization.

He loathed these nights, where he had not met with another person in days, had not eaten anything other than cold tinned soup, pouches of tuna, and stale protein bars. He longed to be home—his _real_ home, in Julia's glowing, candle-lit back room, a mug of hot chocolate (his guilty fall pleasure) cupped in his hands, a book propped open in his lap and Julia's head snuggled into the crook of his neck.

But—no.

He was out in the middle of nowhere, tent erected in the shadow of his van and all but eclipsed by the darkness. He was alone amid the waving strands of grass, solo beneath the star-speckled October sky. He could camp in the van, of course—and had done so on many occasions—but experience had taught him that a tent, sleeping bag, and multiple layers of clothing were in the long run far more comfortable and much warmer bedding than the interior of a metal van.

A crisp wind filtered through the air, ruffling his hair and eliciting a violent shiver. Drawing his coat more tightly about himself, Paton knelt and unzipped his tent, unlacing his boots and kicking them off to a corner as he sealed himself inside. The interior was moderately warmer than outdoors—only marginally, true, but at least the wind was shut out.

Paton sighed and shrugged out of his jacket, jumping just as quickly into the warm thermal he had brought to wear to sleep. His body shook with cold for a few moments as the cloth, cool from its time incumbent in his bag, slowly warmed to match his body temperature. He hated the cold, hated that he had to isolate himself in such a manner from everything and everyone he cared about.

And Julia, especially Julia.

Paton closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away, rising up out of his body and fluttering away to happier times. Slowly his shivers ceased as his body heat filtered through the small tent and generated a growing thermal cocoon within his sleeping bag. His eyes grew heavy as the day's efforts caught up with him and subdued his wandering thoughts. Black lashes fluttered and slowly sank, eclipsing sable eyes overflowing with exhaustion even as his dreams rose to overtake him

They were his refuge, a sort of sleeping catharsis that kept him going on these long and lonely nights. His mind conjured a phantom Julia, her voice ringing sweetly in his ear, a calming draught that washed over him, a soothing balm that eased the burning ache in his chest. His dream-vision blurred for a moment as he struggled to bring the scene into focus. Dragging himself into this new reality, he broke through the surface of the haze, a drowning man breaching the water's filmy surface after hours of effort.

He stood out in front of the bookshop, the last vestiges of the afternoon sun sinking beyond the horizon and throwing out faint tendrils of amber and pin that reached up to tickle the encroaching darkness with waving fingers. Julia stood at his side, a glorious smile on her lips, chestnut hair cascading down around her shoulders to coalesce at the small of her back, the silky strands catching the final solar rays and shimmering with a luminous golden glow. She wore a long coat, a white silk scarf peeking out at the hollow of her throat, shielding her form the worst bite of the brisk autumn wind. White-gloved hands clutched his arm as she leaned into his side, turning that beaming smile to his face. "You've truly outdone yourself, Paton," she said, her voice infused with all of the warmth the crisp night air lacked.

He turned and met her smile with one of his own. "Why thank you, my dear," he replied, a sense of smug satisfaction infiltrating his voice.

As one, they turned to face the front of the book store, recently re-decorated in honor of the season. Candle-lit pumpkins gleamed in each display case, grinning out at their carvers with geometric smiles. Even more candles shone in the windows, imbibing the homey shop with a luminescent, orange warmth that emphasized the familial comforts of fall as well as the otherworldliness of the rapidly-approaching holiday. Ruby-colored leaves rustled as the wind increased in intensity, and a few scarlet and vermillion gems fluttered to the cobbled ground.

Julia flexed her fingers within their gloves and relaxed her grip on Paton's arms, turning instead into his warm, welcoming embrace. "Shall we go inside, love?" she murmured, the movement of her cool lips upon the hollow of his throat eliciting a shiver and causing goosebumps to erupt across his chilled flesh.

"A sound suggestion, dear Julia," he murmured in return, his voice a soothing rumble against her chest.

They slipped into the shop, careful to keep the heavy door open as little as possible to conserve the heat that radiated throughout the building. They moved in tandem to the back room, Paton's hand on the small of Julia's back as he escorted her across the floor. Once secure from the cold, they shed their thick outer layers, Paton draping his long, black coat across the back of his favorite squashy armchair, Julia setting her tan version neatly aside in the closet.

The room crackled with a warmth both tangible and innate, the air laced with an undercurrent of desire and affection that piggybacked the comforting aura exuded by the crackling hearth and twinkling candles.

Paton settled down on the couch, forgoing his chair in favor of company, stretching his long legs out in front of him and situating himself back against the overstuffed cushions. Julia joined him without his having to ask, tucking her feet up beneath herself and curling into his side.

They sat like that for a long while, no words necessary to communicate the serenity of the situation. Julia's arms snaked around his torso as she snuggled up against him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck and resting her cheek on his shoulder. "This is nice," she murmured, closing her eyes and allowing the warmth of the moment to overwhelm her. Gradually, her breathing and body grew heavy as she relaxed against him, and she drifted off into the world of dreams.

Paton smiled tenderly, looking down at the woman using him as a glorified pillow. Gently, so as not to disturb her tranquil state, he reached out one hand and smoothed the hair back from her face. She was an angel—his angel— and still he wondered how she had ever come to choose him.

Paton blinked, and awoke alone to a heatless, empty vacuum, his sleeping bag wrapped around him and his tent so cold he couldn't feel his feet. Sighing, he sank back against the hard tent floor; back to reality, it seemed. He thought longingly of Julia, and the homey scene that his mind had conjured, and despair almost overcame him until he remembered that _he_ was the one away, and that soon his travels would take him home—home, where Julia would be waiting.


	12. As Fate Would Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenaged Paton sneaks out of school for an evening walk in the city and meets what will eventually be a *very* familiar face..

The sun hung heavy in the darkening sky, offset by clouds of varying degrees of brilliant pink and orange. Opposite, set amid a backdrop of dusky blue and lavender, the moon crept ever higher. Paton inhaled deeply through his nose, the fresh air gusting through his lungs a revitalizing burst of life. Summer had been wet this year, with clouds obscuring all but a few days and rain cascading down to earth on all but a few of _those_. Hermit that he was, he had an acute sense of appreciation for sunshine and clear skies—rain was hardly conducive to his runs and ambling nighttime strolls.

This was his first evening out of doors in nearly three weeks, and he was desperate for an outdoor escape. Grizelda and the others were plotting again, following him even to school and lurking behind closed doors and whispering about who knew what, shooting him dark, furtive looks whenever he passed by. It wasn't enough that they haunted his every waking moment when he was _out_ of Bloors as well, finding ways to spy on him without ever interacting with their estranged father—no, they had to follow him to school itself as well, which was hell enough _without_ their interference.

Paton needed to get out today, to the point where he was willing to brave the visibility of dusk; he just couldn't wait until night had fully fallen. As he paced restlessly along the concrete labyrinth sprawling out before him, his mind turned over his sisters' nefarious natures. Did he intervene this time or wait until they chose to act—or still do nothing at all? He hated that they spent so much time at the academy now. No matter how much he hated the school, it had at least been his haven from all but Venetia, she being the only one remotely close to him in age. The others had all long since done their time, and he would have hoped they had moved on and lost interest in darkening the doorway of a children’s school.

He should have known better from the start.

His disinterest in the evils of the world was much easier to maintain when Grizelda and crew were not directly involved; the compulsion to act, to do something— _anything—_ was always much stronger when he knew he would be directly counteracting their plans. And, of course, they continued to make their presences well known, so what other choice remained?

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, forging on, tread light against the sidewalk.

Technically speaking, he was violating at least ten different school rules with his nighttime strolls, but what were they going to do—expel him? "I wish," he muttered. Though, by this point in time it wouldn't really matter anyway; he was due to graduate in the spring, set to move on to some university somewhere and finally ( _finally_ ) escape this little web of the endowed—at least for a time. He maintained no illusions, knowing full and well that whatever it was that bound the descendants of the Red King together would draw him back to this godforsaken city sooner or later.

Far too often, he felt the walls of the old Bloor mansion and everything they represented drawing in upon him, ensnaring him within a trap and identity from which he could not escape. He wanted nothing to do with the evil children of the Red King, knew from personal experience how bad they truly were—but he saw and knew all too well what happened to the good ones that stood in their paths.

On these walks, though, he could just be Paton—no strings attached.

It took some maneuvering to break through the fortress that constituted the school's outer façade, but he had been managing it quite well through for a number of years via a hidden passage to the garden he'd discovered; the combination of a cinder block and his considerable height took care of the looming wall.

Feeling uncharacteristically reckless this particular evening—perhaps an offshoot of his rain-induced cabin fever—Paton turned down an alley and emerged on one of the more populous streets of downtown. He was careful to keep his head down, forging on and focusing on and focusing on _not_ blowing anything up. He knew he was taking a huge risk, but…sometimes, it was worth it. Sometimes he just needed to break free from routine, from stereotypes and expectations and from the Paton Yewbeam who kept quiet and did nothing.

So he walked on, allowing himself a fleeting glimpse at the foreign world of "normal" people.

And—there were so _many_ of them, ants bustling around in their well-lit hill, illuminated even in the twilit sky by a sea of florescent lights. Shops, restaurants, apartments, cars, streets— _everything_ was lit by a bright yellow glow. Affinity—if one could call it that—with lights or no, Paton spent much of his time in relative darkness, so the surge of brilliance was overwhelming to him. Caught off guard, he allowed his control to waver and a crosswalk signal burst in a brilliant shower of red, glass cascading to the ground.

Flushing, he forged ahead, muttering apologies to the bemused couple at his elbow.

He paused to take refuge in a darkened alley, leaning back against the brick wall of a deserted building and watching from beneath hooded eyes as the world walked by, uncaring and caught up in the herd, each bent only on his or her personal worries and cares.

"Oh, oops!" A group—or was it a gaggle?—of young women passed by his refuge, no doubt on their way to dinner or a drink, talking and laughing and teasing. The exclamation came from the youngest of the bunch, clearly someone's little sister and bearing a tote bag nearly as large as she. It was this that had brought on the outburst, for it had split under the weight of its cargo and spilled out what appeared to Paton to be nearly a library's worth of books.

"Nancy, your sister's gone and ripped her bag," one of the other young women complained. "Now we're going to be even _later_ to the pub."

The only blonde of the bunch blushed and ushered her friends on, dropping back to give her sister an annoyed frown. "Look," she placated, "You guys go on ahead of me. I'll get her home and then catch up."

The younger brunette buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry," she apologized, sinking to the ground and reaching haphazardly for her books. "Look, Nancy, we're close enough to the apartment—you go on with your friends. I'll be fine.”

Her sister furrowed her brow, torn between her desire to go have fun and her task of escorting her younger sister home. "Are you sure?" she asked, her tone dubious. "Mum told me to walk you _all_ the way home from the library.”

"Yes!" Paton recognized from the determined set of the young brunette's mouth that she would not take no for an answer. "I'll be fine," she insisted.

Nancy hesitated for a minute more, casting a glance after her departing friends. "Well…alright, then," she conceded, the relief in her eyes painfully obvious. "Be careful, though!" she enforced. At her sister's not, she turned and hastened after her friends, glancing back only once at the small figure she was leaving on the sidewalk.

Paton watched the younger girl struggle in vain to collect all of her fallen books. Taking pity on her and casting a quick plea out to any listening deities for an extended period of control, he stepped out of his shadowed shelter and knelt beside her. "Do you need help?”

Startled, the girl yelped, then clapped her hands over her mouth and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "Sorry!" she blurted. "You just scared me.”

Frowning, he drew back, already internally berating himself for what was obviously a terrible idea. "Yeah, I do that to people a lot," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and shifting as if to rise back up to his feet.

"No!" Her hand shot out and caught his. "Don't go—I'd love the help!" Taking an armful of books, she nodded at the remainder. "My family's apartment is right down the block; help me carry these?”

Panicking for a moment—because apartments meant _lights_ , and he didn't want to scare this girl with an exploding light bulb, at the most optimistic of potential calamities—Paton gaped like a fish, scrambling internally for an escape. Then he sighed and shrugged, hoping his luck would hold. "Sure." He easily scooped up the remainder and plucked a few of the heavier volumes out of her arms as well. "What are you doing with this many books, anyway?" he inquired. "You can't be more than, what, eleven?”

"I'm twelve," she sniffed, "and it's not like you're all that much older.” She leaned back and eyed him imperiously. “Although you are _incredibly_ tall.”

"I'm eighteen!" he protested, indignant. "That's plenty older.”

Shaking her head to display her disbelief, she fixed him with a bright stare. "And I'm _reading_ them.”

His eyebrows rose. "I'm impressed," he said honestly, faintly entertained by how she flushed at the praise. He knew all too well the alluring nature of a good book, be it fiction or history; he had lost himself countless times amid the pages of a book, his friends when no human would deign to bear his company.

"Oh, this is me," she pointed to one of the newer apartment complexes, her directive snapping him out of his reverie. "If you could just stack them in my arms and get the door, I'll be fine.”

"Are you sure?" he asked, already sensing her reply.

"Yes!" she answered, true to form. "And thank you! Nancy's a great sister, but her friends…”

Paton grinned wryly, thinking of his own family. "Believe me, I'm quite familiar with sister problems.”

Returning his smile, she ducked under his arm and through the door. "Thanks again! Maybe I'll see you around sometime!" And with that she was gone, a gangly waif dancing in toward the elevator.

Paton blinked, then hastily retreated into the street, eyes downcast once more. She may have been young, but that girl was remarkably intriguing; he wondered if she'd be the same when she was all grown up.

He laughed then, for he was Paton Yewbeam, freak extraordinaire, and she was a happy child living a happy, normal life.

Odds were, they'd never meet again.


	13. Mistletoe

Julia knew something wasn't right the minute that she walked through the door of the deserted bookshop. It was five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, and they weren’t set to close shop for another hour at least—there should be at least _one_ customer present, and yet there were none to be found. She hummed under her breath, peering through the main room of the shop, brow wrinkled in consternation. On top of that, where on earth was Paton? He was supposed to the minding the shop for her, and yet he was nowhere to be found.

The hair rose slightly on the back of her neck, that innate sense of _wrongness_ hovering at the forefront of her thoughts like a spectral shadow. Outside, the shadow of the cathedral had grown long, the setting sun catching the eaves and great steeple and throwing the facade into darkness. Julia frowned, wrapping her arms about herself.

After a moment, she moved from the window, chasing the gloom from her thoughts. “It’s probably nothing,” she told herself firmly, shaking her head to clear it. “He’s probably sequestered himself in the back reading, leaving the shop unattended….again.” While it would be just like him to discover a useful text and then close up shop to investigate the information it contained—and, indeed, he had done so on multiple occasions—she knew that she could never bring herself to chastise him. If she were to be honest with herself, she found his enthusiasm rather adorable, though she would never dream of telling him so. The juvenile word alone would mortify him, let alone its use as a descriptor for _him_.

Glancing towards the display window, she noted that the word 'open' was indeed facing the wrong way for that time of day.

Julia sighed. It had better be some pretty important reading.

She shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, and then stepped into the back room, letting the curtain fall closed behind her with a gentle _swoosh_.

The sight that met her eyes was not anything that she had been expecting.

Julia had anticipated seeing a glowing, candle-lit room, books spread haphazardly on shelves and furniture. She had expected to find Paton on the sofa, or perhaps seated at her desk, immersed in a rare manuscript. He had such a bad habit of hunching over whatever surface served as his makeshift prop, shoulders bent and twisted in a manner that could hardly be comfortable for someone of such height. Yes, Julia would not have been surprised to find her erstwhile partner utterly engrossed in some tome or another, leaving the shop to its own devices and the day itself completely forgotten.

Thus, she was quite taken aback—not to mention more than a little concerned—when the back room showed itself to be neat, tidy, and utterly devoid of any life form.

Julia frowned. Something was _definitely_ not right. She surveyed the room; nothing had changed since she had left earlier. All of the books were still in place, and the holiday decorations were where they had been set earlier that week. Smiling slightly at the memory of decorating the tree—Paton had nearly tripped over Emma’s duck trying to place the star on top—Julia turned her attention to the possible whereabouts of her husband.

There was always a small possibility that he had gone to visit Lyell, Amy, and Charlie at Diamond Corner, but she had no doubt that he would have left a note had that been the case.

A small shiver brought her out of her musings and reminded her that neither the fire nor the candles were lit, and the chill of the late December afternoon was quickly invading the normally cozy backroom. Julia fetched a match from her desk and set about chasing away the cold, lighting candles and gathering kindling, and soon she had a warm blaze crackling in the fireplace. Sighing in relief, she spared a moment to warm her hands in front of the hearth before pacing over to brighten the rest of the room.

As she was lighting the candle on her desk, she noticed a piece of paper that she was certain had not been there before. Perhaps Paton _had_ gone to see Charlie and his family. She sat down at the desk, picking up the missive.

It was a confusing mix of garbled foreign letters in a language she did not speak, and she frowned as she stared down at the slip of paper clutched in her fingers that told her absolutely nothing. So intent in the note was Julia that she entirely failed to notice the figure sneaking up behind her.

A pair of lean hands came down to rest on her shoulders, and she yelped,startled, leaping into the air.

"Who—" she exclaimed, but was cut off by a hearty chuckle from the man behind her.

Julia turned around to glare at her husband. "Paton, why on _earth_ did you think that it would be funny to frighten me half to death?!” Her voice shook slightly, but her lips twitched upward slightly as well, a sure sign that he was already forgiven. It was such a delight to see her usually stoic husband act to uncharacteristically immature.

Paton smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth. "Julia, my dear, I didn't _think_ that it would be funny. I _knew_ it would be.”

When she continued to look upset, refusing to drop her frown, his smile drooped. "I'm sorry, love," he said, apology heavy in his tone, his large hands coming up to rest on her shoulders.

Julia gave way, rolling her eyes and smiling. "No, you're not," she said knowingly.

"Fine, fine, you caught me." He held up his hands in mock surrender. Moving closer, he reached a hand up to her hair. At her questioning look, he grinned again. "Snow," he said, gently brushing the white precipitation onto the floor.

Leaning into his touch, Julia allowed her eyes to drift closed, enjoying the feel of his hands in her hair. Her eyes snapped open again, however, as she remembered her ire.

"Paton?" she asked suspiciously.

“Hmm?"

"Why did you decide to hide when I got home? And," she added, brandishing the letter, "what, exactly, was the point of this? You know quite well that I can't read Gaelic.”

"But that's just the point, my dear. You aren't _supposed_ to be able to read it." Paton gazed at her, a picture of innocence.

Julia's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Paton Yewbeam?”

He drew her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. "Must I be up to something?" he asked. "However, if you _could_ read Gaelic,”—and here she shifted a little in his arms, managing to convey an attitude of _I told you so_ —"you would know that I merely took the liberty of adding my own addition to the holiday décor, as you seem to have omitted it.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Forgotten something…?"

Instead of answering, he ran a light hand over her hair and let it rest on her cheek. She sighed, leaning into his touch as his thumb traced a light pattern over her lips. Paton lowered his head to meet Julia's eyes, capturing her gaze in his own.

Her breath caught in her chest as he gently brushed his lips against hers. Julia sighed into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist. His other hand moved to her hair, and he ran it lightly through the chestnut waves. Only when he released her lips did she remember to breathe, and she gazed up at Paton, desperately attempting to regain cohesive thought. "What is it that I forgot?" she asked dazedly.

Eyes shining with amusement, Paton cupped a hand under Julia's chin, tilting her head so that she could see the ceiling above their heads.

"Mistletoe," he said simply.


	14. Pick Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's-themed oneshot filled with cheese, romance, and a little bit of smexytimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading and commenting! I'm absolutely shite about responding, and I apologize--probably won't ever get any better at it. However, I read and appreciate every single one!! 
> 
> I WILL be adding new content to this, too--I'm finishing up editing/updating all of my existing material that I want to include, and then I'll start working on some new little one shots as well. I don't think I'll ever completely escape from writing for these two <3

The morning of February 14th began innocently enough. Determined to inspire a memorable first _official_ St. Valentine’s day, Paton awoke early and met his wife with a kiss on the lips, a smile, and a beautiful bouquet of roses seemingly drawn from thin air; Julia replied with a sleepy smile and kiss of her own, and then promptly rolled over, flung the pillow over her head, and went back to sleep.

Blinking, Paton watched her for a moment, chest rising and falling gently beneath the sheet she clutched to her chest, cheek pillowed on the mattress and pillow wedged over her head. Far be it for him to begrudge Julia her rest. He leaned over and plucked the pillow from her limp hands, lifting her head gently and tucking it beneath her cheek, thumb swiping softly across her parted lower lip. “Sleep well, my dear,” he murmured fondly. He slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the door to begin making breakfast.

Julia emerged sometime between the time he finished slicing the oranges for the fruit salad and when he inadvertently dropped his fry pan for the scrambled eggs on the floor with a clatter. “Just as well I’m already awake,” she teased, sliding into the kitchen with a wink. She curled her hand lightly about his wrist, stopping him before he knelt to pick up the offending pan, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Blushing, Paton flipped his hand so that he clutched hers, and reached down with his free arm to snag the skillet. “I thought I would make us breakfast,” he told her, casting his eyes over to the counter, where a big bowl of fruit and a steaming pile of pancakes already rested.

His attention shifted back to the treat standing directly before him and his eyes darkened—forgoing her nightgown from the previous evening, she had instead slid into one of his own shirts. Petite as she was, the shirt covered her from shoulders to mid-thigh, draping across her curves in a way that managed to remain entirely modest while also tempting Paton to forgo breakfast entirely and drag her back upstairs to their bedroom.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she declared, sliding him an all-too-knowing smile as he swallowed, “I think we have enough to constitute a full breakfast. We don’t need the eggs, love, that’s a lot of food already.” Her smilegrew into a full smirk, tugging at her lips as she skimmed her lips across the open collar of his own shirt. “And if there’s less to clean up, that leaves _more_ time for us to go back to bed.”

Before she could blink Paton had pancakes and fruit on plates, a bottle of syrup and a butter tray sitting ready on the table. “Well in _that_ case…”

Giggling, Julia dragged him over to the table and they tucked into breakfast. It was a relatively silent affair, defined by a comfortable silence and a heady sense of anticipation that crackled between them.

After what was simultaneously an eternity and yet no time at all, Paton’s fork was tapping at a plate now devoid of pancakes. He sighed happily, replete, and set his fork down, looking rather sadly at the empty plate in front of him; the slightest smear of syrup on the ceramic was the only remnant of the meal he had just consumed. “I may have outdone myself,” he declared, licking a dab of syrup from his thumb. He watched Julia’s eyes track the motion and felt a rush of anticipation flood his veins.

"That was delicious, love," Julia agreed absently, eyes now trailing openly along the arch of his neck. "Thank you, Paton." Her tongue flickered out to wet her lips and Paton swallowed.

“I admit I find myself still with something of an appetite, however,” he declared softly, canting his head to fix her with an appraising look.

“Oh?” Julia demurred, casting her eyes down coquettishly. She feigned ignorance, twirling a strand of her rich, chestnut hair around one finger. “Is there something else you wanted, dear?” She refused to give him time to answer, instead rising from the table and reaching for the nearest dishes.

Paton leapt from his chair and nearly upended his glass of orange juice. He was beside her in an instant, catching her wrist gently in his hand and drawing her away from the table. "Nuh-uh," he chided, waving the index finger of his free hand in front of her face. "That's _my_ job today.” Leaning down, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss, chiding hand sliding to cup the curve of her jaw as he devoured her mouth. “We both know I’m faster at washing dishes,” he murmured against her lips, “and I find expediency to suddenly be of the _utmost_ importance.”

Huffing in amusement and drawing a much needed breath of air, Julia stood back and watched her husband bustle around their kitchen with an easy familiarity. Though this was their first Valentine's Day as husband and wife, they had already explored the stereotypically commercialized celebratory routes in previous years, so this year's plans were oriented much closer to home. Beyond breakfast and having a lie-in, neither party had anything specific planned, and the sense of anticipation and easy familiarity heightened their enjoyment of the stereotypically frivolous day.

Julia, for her part, was already wearing her own contribution, a lacy red number that was admittedly as much a gift to herself as it was for Paton. The feel of the lingerie against her skin beneath Paton’s own shirt was sinfully delightful, sleek and smooth against her skin beneath the comfortable fabric covering her torso. She pursed her lips, watching the fluid movements of his body as he slid dishes into the washer and returned various condiments to the pantry."Do you have any plans for the day?" she asked him, catching his eye as he turned and closed the pantry door behind him. "Paton?" she prompted, frowning when no answer was immediately forthcoming and he remained standing still and staring.

"Hmm?" He shook his head, jolting out of whatever reverie had seemingly gripped him. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized, blinking, a slow grin creeping across his face. "There must be something wrong my eyes—I can't take them off of you.”

Giggling, Julia shook her head. "If you were any cheesier, Paton, you'd have holes," she teased, moving over to peck him on the cheek and steal the remaining plate from between his hands, depositing it neatly in the sink.

Like lighting, his hands shot out and pulled her snugly against him, tucking her snugly against his chest. He smirked as his eyes met hers once more, gaze unwavering as he lowered his head to brush his mouth across her own.

Julia flushed and felt her breath hitch in her chest as he took her lower lip between his teeth, worrying it gently then brushing his his lips lightly over her own. It was ridiculous, really: she'd known the man for over three years and he could _still_ reduce her to a state of incoherency with the merest of touches.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly, nose tickling her neck as he leaned in and planted a series of open-mouthed kisses along her jawline.

"What?" Julia mumbled, confused but not caring in the least as he continued his delicious little caresses.

"You've been running through my mind all morning," he confessed, drawing back and meeting her dazed stare with a grin, a mischievous sparkle gleaming in his sable eyes.

Julia's mind finally caught up with her ears and she groaned loudly, rolling her eyes and shoving half-heartedly at his shoulder, willing her frantic heart rate to calm. "Really, Paton?" she asked. "Are we really going to go there today of all days?”

He took a step forward, Julia following his motion and instinctively stepping back, and pressed her back against the counter. “What better day than Valentine’s? Now, I was thinking," he murmured, bringing his mouth scant centimeters from her own, "that we should work on that little garden you have growing out along the alleyway in the back.”

"What?" Julia was no ashamed to admit that she was totally lost. First Paton was spouting pick-up lines, _then_ he was seconds away from her jumping his bones and not letting him leave the house, and now _gardening—_ the man was impossible to follow.

Paton nodded sagely. "You have your roses and tulips and daffodils, and I was thinking that I could bring my tulips and your tulips together."

Julia barely had time to gape at him before he closed the distance between them and met her mouth in a passionate kiss, drawing his tongue across her lips, silently asking permission to explore. Her mouth parted, and his tongue swept in, stroking along her cheeks and tongue and seeking out all of the places that made her pulse race and blood surge.

His hands sought hers out, clasping her wrists and pressing them gently to the counter behind her, the granite edge digging in to her arms and back. Pressed against her as he was, he nearly lost himself and forgot the game he played, her proximity and desire and the way she fit so perfectly against him all but driving his playful plan from his mind. Remembering himself, Paton drew back slightly and rested his forehead against hers, panting.

"Was that an earthquake," Julia asked, brushing a light kiss across his cheekbone, "or did you just rock my world?" She laughed at the dumbstruck expression that stole across his face, the gleeful sound bubbling up and overflowing from within her, filling the room with its joyful peal. "Two can play at this game, love," she reminded him, freeing her hands from his now-slack grip and tweaking his nose. With a brilliant smile, she turned out of his arms and set about finishing the kitchen clean up. "Now, shoo," she commanded, looking up at him from where she was kneeling to put away some pans. "I know you have at least _some_ research to do today at the library, and I have to uphold appearances and at least _open_ the shop today.”

Paton looked at her with a combination of awe, love, and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Very well," he acquiesced the challenge evident in his voice. "I shall see you later, my dear.”

He turned and departed the room, and Julia heard him climb the stairs to their room, presumably to get ready for the day. She shook her head. "What am I going to do with that man?" she wondered, grinning to herself. She had to confess, though, that it would make for an interesting day.

An hour and a half later found Julia on a step ladder in the main room of the bookshop—now fully dressed, though with far racier undergarments than she would choose for a standard workday. There were a few boxes worth of a new shipment of merchandise piled on her sales desk, halfway unpacked and the contents scattered in stacks around the shelves on the sales floor. As she had expected, very few people were out seeking rare books that day, so she was taking advantage of the quiet to finally get some new orders properly shelved. Immersed as she was in her work, she failed to take note of the light tinkle of the bell at the door, or even the loud _thunk_ as the ‘Open’ sign was flipped to ‘Closed’, and only realized someone was there when Paton touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Paton!" She jumped and the ladder wobbled, her arms shooting out to grasp the shelf and stabilize herself. "Don't _do_ that," she chided, looking down her nose at her black-clad husband.

He met her glare with a look that was equal parts contrition and impishness. "I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized.

"You'd better be," Julia sniffed. "I nearly got a nasty bruise falling for you.”

His reaction to the subtle line was more dramatic than she had anticipated. Instead of raising an eyebrow or grinning at her, Paton caught her about the waist and swung her down into his arms. "If I could rearrange the alphabet," he murmured, eyes dancing, "I'd put 'U' and 'I' together." He paused in consideration, glancing down at his armful of Julia. "Then again, I suppose we already are.”

Julia was the one to surprise then, hands reaching up to lever herself closer to him, kissing her way down his neck, seeking out his racing pulse point. Her lips ghosted over the pale skin, offering too much and not enough touch all at once.

Paton groaned at the sensuous touch, his arms tightening around her.

Julia smiled against the hollow of his throat and then bit down lightly, worrying the skin between her teeth. "I was wondering if you had an extra heart," she murmured, hands snaking up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I seem to have lost mine."

Her tongue flicked out to brush across the mark she had made, soothing it with her soft touch. He shuddered at the touch, and Julia could feel him tremble as he fought to restrain himself. She snickered, always proud of how she could reduce such an articulate man to such a state in a matter of minutes.

Of course, she never lost sight of the fact that he could easily do the same for her.

It took Paton the briefest of moments to press her back against the bookshelf she had been working on, allowing her feet to rest on the ground so he could bury his hands in her hair, keeping her in place with his body alone. Now it was his turn to lavish her neck with attention, nipping lightly at the flawless skin and then laving it with his tongue. "If you were words on a page," he said hoarsely, moving higher and higher up her neck until he was just behind her ear, "you would be fine print.”

That startled a laugh out of her despite the heat of the moment. The giggle soon turned to a breathy gasp, though, as Paton pressed more firmly against her and finally kissed her properly, dragging his mouth against hers in a heady moment of contact, exploring her mouth and reveling in her touch, her taste, her _everything._

"I love you," he gasped, hands ghosting up and down her sides, slipping beneath her pressed blouse to caress the flat of her stomach, the coolness of his hands a sharp contrast to the heat that seared her body. She could tell the moment he realized what she wore beneath her clothing, his touch tensing against her skin and his body pressing even closer.

"That's all the pick-up line you ever needed," she whispered, gently biting his lip. She felt him smile against her mouth.

"Oh, I know," he murmured, eyes lighting up as his questing fingers brushed the lacy edge of her lingerie, "but it's so much more _amusing_ this way." He leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye, caressing her through the silk until Julia thought she might melt. "That is a beautiful shirt, my dear," he rumbled, voice low and eyes dark. "May I talk you out of it?”

Grasping his head between her hands, Julia pressed her lips firmly against his.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."


	15. A Little Night Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-evening run leads to some personal reflection and a rather warm welcome upon returning home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such a hardcore personal headcanon that Paton is a runner. Those of you who have read my original stuff on ff.net know this well. For any new readers, that's my story and I'm sticking to it! 
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments and hits on last chapter, even already! For this fandom to be as old as it is, I absolutely adore that you cats still enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing for it!

Paton's heart pounded in his chest, his legs carrying him across the wooded path at a steady clip. His breathing was even despite his rapid pace, feet pounding out a regimented tempo as they crunched the desiccated leaves scattered across the earth.

_Left right left right left._

His mind was blissfully blank as he ran, these fleeting moments of sheer physical exertion some of the only periods of calm available to him.

The days were short now, late sunrises partnering with early sunsets to cast the city into the cool shadow of night for nearly fourteen hours. For Paton, the extra hours of darkness offered sanctuary, a dark blanket with which he could cloak himself from the scrutiny of the uninitiated. He could venture out late in the afternoon, when the waning sun sat low and heavy on the horizon, and make his way into the world on the mere promise of the night to come.

His habits had shifted dramatically since the fall of the Bloors and Lyell's return—much more confident and in markedly greater control of his powers, he spent a great deal more time outside than he ever had previously. It helped, too, that Julia was decidedly diurnal except in cases where he intervened, and so his habits had undergone a marked shift upon the official commencement of their cohabitation.

His breath came in deep gasps, heavy and even and accompanied by a white whuff of fog upon each exhalation. It was a cool evening, even for late October, and the sweat beading on his arms and face left him shivering slightly as the brisk breeze jumped and danced about him.

He might allow himself freer reign during the day now, but it was still the night that held his allegiance.

It was one of his favorite times to run, that heady late afternoon interface between sunset and pure darkness—that gradual eclipse of daylight, the extinguishment of those last, lonely streaks of orange sunlight across the indigo sky. He lived for that intoxicating moment in which one sat poised on the cusp of nightfall, straddling the boundary between sparkling daylight and the comforting shroud of night.

The trail he followed veered left, turning from the main road and taking him over a makeshift earthen bridge scattered with decomposing leaves. Paton pressed onward, leaves crunching satisfyingly beneath his feet. He breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling the crisp autumn air and earthy aroma of the woods with every gulp of air he took. The static-laced air held a heady cocktail of odors— the rich scent of decaying leaves, the faintest trace of a bonfire in the distance, the crackle of an oncoming fall storm just barely evident in the cool wind blowing in from the east.

The trail he ran was one that cut through the woods alongside town, overshadowed by towering trees. This late in the autumn, their leaves were a brilliant, fiery collage, a tumultuous mixture oranges and reds and yellows of every shade. Tall though he was, the looming vegetation overpowered him in its majesty, those ancient oaks and hawthorns andgleaming rowans and birches immense in their jeweled splendor.

Borne by the brisk wind, their leaves rained from their limbs and tumbled through the air, whirling in complex loops across the earthen path. They coiled and twisted about Paton, buffeting his torso and skipping between his legs in a wild dance. He raced them, the fiery colors stark against the black of his jogging pants as he loped along the creek.

Lost in his mind as he was, Paton's steady stride faltered somewhat as he rounded the corner and was faced by the sprawling horizon of lights of the city beyond. It was with no small amount of regret that he followed the curve of the trail toward the fluorescent and neon metropolis beyond, the twinkling lights of the city in the looming horizon taunting him with every glimmer against the night.

Darkness had truly fallen now, the harvest moon rising to the left, a spectacular array of stars sparkling into existence behind it. One by one, they sat themselves in the night sky, each another bright pinprick of light until the artificial electric cacophony ahead was nearly eclipsed. For just a moment, he could pretend the lights of the city did not exist, could ignore the sprawling metropolitan mass and lose himself in the smattering of stars beyond.

A colony of bats rose from the trees behind Paton, darting off into the night in a fleeting black cloud, screeching its defiance to the heavens. Paton smiled, his teeth glimmering in the moonlight, and inclined his head toward their retreating forms. As often as he was accused of being a vampire, he could not help but harbor a fondness for the creatures.

Gradually, the path beneath his feet passed from worn earth to gravel to asphalt, and he crossed from the boundary of the forest to the narrow city streets. He let his pace slow as he neared the looming shadow of the cathedral, loping run fading to a brisk jog and finally a swift walk. Breathing heavily as his body caught up to the reduced speed, he followed the asphalt to the cobbled square before the cathedral, pausing to gaze at the darkened structure that towered before him.

The shadowy stones were rough in the shining moonlight, caught between the clear white beams from above and the warm, welcoming glow that emanated from the front window of the bookshop behind him. Paton stood with his back to the shop for a long while, just staring up at the majestic building before him. He had a lot of memories built into this square—in the cathedral itself, and most especially in the building that sat sedately in its shadow.

Eventually he couldn't ignore the goosebumps rippling across his pale flesh, his drying sweat clammy against the late autumn wind. It did not take much at all this time of year for his body temperature to plummet. Shivering, he turned and crossed the square in a few quick steps, fishing a key out from beneath the mat and unlocking the heavy oak door.

He pocketed the key, having placed it there prior to his run, and locked the door behind him. Though the hour was not yet late, he knew Julia would likely be sequestered in the back room, reading and willfully oblivious to the world beyond. He envied her at times, her ability to turn off whatever part of her mind dedicated itself to worry; even when he was immersed in his research—or on a very rare occasion, a good novel—he could never completely shut himself down. Smiling softly, he crossed through the silent shop and slipped behind the counter, climbing the stairs to their bedroom in a few long strides, doing his best not to intrude on Julia's quiet time.

His sweaty shirt he cast off into the basket by the door, loosening the tie of his joggers as he crossed the room to his dresser. Sifting through the drawers, he fished out a pair of dark plaid flannel pants and a black thermal shirt, laying both articles across his forearm as he turned stepped around the bed toward the bathroom.

"How was your run?" A pair of slender arms slipped around his waist, and he jumped, startled.

"Julia!" he exclaimed, turning in her grasp to look down at her smiling, upturned face. He relaxed immediately, tension bleeding from his bones as he settled into that familiar and much-loved embrace. “I thought you were downstairs, my dear." He would never admit it, but he was deeply impressed at her silent approach. Years of lurking on the verge of obscurity had granted him an innate awareness of his surroundings, yet here in his own home this beautiful marvel of a woman had crept up on him without second thought.

Julia laughed, a bright sound that rang throughout the room; she knew full and well what was going through his mind. "And what if that was what I wanted you to think?" she teased, mouth quirking into a teasing smile. "It's so rare that I see you outside of your typical dress, all rumpled and out of sorts—I thought I would take advantage of the situation." Her eyebrow quirked upward and she let one hand play with the waistband of his black jogging sweats.

Paton was suddenly quite reminded of his rather uncharacteristic state of undress. He chuckled, shivering slightly at her touch. "You, of all people, have that luxury far more than most," he replied, running one long-fingered hand along the arm still wrapped about his waist.

"And yet, not enough," she returned, eyes scanning his bared torso in an appraising manner. The moonlight shone through their bedroom window, causing his pale skin to gleam with an otherworldly radiance. Always pale, his ivory skin _glowed_ in the ethereal light pouring into the room. Julia hugged him tightly, uncaring as to the cold sweat that had yet to dry, resting her cheek on his chest. "My sweaty vampire," she laughed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the skin and muscle and bone that encaged his heart.

He blushed, the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks and the accelerated beat of his pulse just making her giggle harder. "Vampire? I'll thank you to take that back—just because I _choose_ not to spend much time out and about during the day doesn't mean I _can’t_."

Julia chortled. "You're pale as can be with or without sunlight, and you can't deny your nocturnal tendencies. Throw in that red wine you love so much and you're a classic vampire, love.”

He smirked and twisted in her arms, and suddenly the dynamic shifted. He caught her hands in his, bringing his mouth down to her neck. "Vampire, am I?" he questioned, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the long tendon of her neck. "Well then…”

Julia let out a breathy moan as he nibbled a line from behind her ear to down along her collarbone, gripping his arms tightly so as not to fall. "Paton," his name was the barest exhale, and she shuddered in his arms as he bit down lightly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

She could feel him smile against her skin. "Yes, my dear?”

"You are incorrigible." She extricated herself from him slightly, putting a bit of space between their bodies before she—or he—completely lost control. His heart was fluttering rapidly beneath the hand she rested on his ribcage, his breathing rapid and shallow. Hers was not much better, her heart beating rapidly, her face flushed and her hair mussed. She grinned slightly and stroked her thumb across his ribcage, marveling as he shuddered beneath her touch. That _she_ could bring such a stoic, reserved, sophisticated man to the point of incoherency was a heady awareness she had yet to fully realize, even after nearly a year of marriage and more than triple that of knowing him. Taking mercy on him, she slid her hand down his arm to curl her palm around his, lacing their fingers tightly together.

"You're also _freezing_ ," she added pointedly, swinging their conjoined hands toward the tell-tale goosebumps that were breaking out across his bared skin. "And a bit…earthy," she reached up to pluck a stray leaf from his black hair, smoothing her hands over the sable strands.

"Well, I _was_ headed to the shower," Paton said lightly, leaning into her caress before raising his eyebrows and giving her a wounded glance, "before someone accosted me on my way there.”

Julia only laughed, shooing him through the open door. "Go on, then," she directed. Her honeyed eyes were warm as she met his heated eyes. "I'll be waiting when you get out.”

Lips quirking, Paton cocked his head slightly and closed the door behind him. "I'm counting on it," he said, the wood between them doing little to mask the promise in his voice.

As the water turned on in the background, Julia hummed a quiet little tune and rested her shoulder on the window frame, watching the moon creep ever higher in the dark sky. She had grown up on the sunlight, had based her life around the blue skies and bright, golden rays and the heady promise of sleep offered by the dark. But here, in the home she and Paton had built within the realm of her previous life, she had also come to appreciate the night and all of the opportunities it offered.

Paton had unlocked a new world for her, had drawn her into his embrace, taken her out of her comfortable dynamic and passed into the realm moonlight walks along darkened city streets, candlelit feasts and midnight waltzes across the polished wood floor of the shop. She still had her days, and he his nights; but now, day in and day out, they also shared.

And, as she heard the shower turn off and the bathroom door slide open, Julia smiled a small, secretive smile and knew in her heart that this night—one among many and yet so very unique—belonged solely to _them._


End file.
